Hmm....

I should be packing. Or cleaning. Or working. Or doing one of the million things on my to-do list that I MUST accomplish before I take off for a month of sun and creativity.

I am procrastinating.

Thinking about life and love and killing time.

Do you ever think that things happen for a reason? (Cliche I know. I will pretend you are not mocking right me now.)

My high school english teacher made us do a research paper on our theories of life... destiny versus free will. He was the same man who gave me detention every day for refusing to tuck in my shirt. Clearly I had made my choice.

Sitting here, procrastinating, having collapsed on the couch after spending the better part of the hour dancing around my apartment in my underwear, philosophizing on all that has been and could be, I am not so sure.

If we wove all the little moments of life together like the quilt my grandmother made me before she died which has since been lost, all those moments of love and loss, conviction and collapse, I bet it all those might make sense.

And in the future when we choose to jump or we hesitate, maybe those moments will all make sense too.

I am seriously overworked... and obviously a little delirious and even reading this back to myself I am pretty sure that it is just a bunch of ramblings. But I am going to post it anyway - because I am exhausted and hoping someone else will regale me with their theories of life for a change.

Come on...fill me in...I'll take notes.

The anatomy of a crush

“So you didn’t finish telling me about the crush,” V said while downing the great last meal - buffalo chicken wings, waffle fries and PBR, our last weekly ritual before two months without my NSGGBF.

“Oh, I am over it.”

“But it just started last night and you were all up in arms about it.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t crush that often and when I do it is usually very short lived.”

“The life span of a fruit fly?”

I would have said that of a lighting bug locked in a mason jar without air or escape but that is just me and maybe that says too much.

It is true though that crushing has really never been my thing, not in the traditional sense. Typically I get an idea about someone, vet them through my mental gauntlet and by the end of their thirty second run in my brain they are decapitated.

I suppose it is not as gory as it sounds but it is as rigorous. As quickly as I can become intrigued by someone I can find a reason to get un-intrigued. I realize this is sick and something I should probably address with my therapist if my work ever changes back our insurances to something that would make it affordable.

I ponder, my hamster doing a fifty yard dash on the wheel in my brain, “Would they fit in with my family, could I have a conversation with them about art, have they ever voted for a Bush?”

There are far more shallow lines of questioning like could I ever see myself attacking a plate of Buffalo wings in front of this person or making the type of perverse jokes that makes V say, “This is why you are a way better friend than you are a girlfriend.”

This goes on as long as it needs to, which sometimes is no longer than it takes a pretty blue-eyed boy to ask me how tall I am.

If on the rare occasion someone makes it through this mental scouring, then it is just a waiting game. I sleep on it. See if it is there in the morning. I figure if it is, then I will be forced to deal with it and dealing will most likely require a palette of make-up and wax for more of my body than should be legal. Luckily, it doesn’t get that far too often.

On this occasion it lasted a whole 48 hours. V was disturbed. I was unimpressed.

Crushing is one of those things in life that just doesn’t happen that often. It requires a certain level of anonymity, of mystery. Not like being friends with someone and slowly developing feelings, at least not in my definition. It just pops up out of no where like a chemical reaction. I fear I have to know people a little better to even notice they are alive - something I suppose I should also discuss with my shrink.

It was entertaining, however, despite being short lived. I can’t remember the last time I had an actual crush...high school, I think. It was a fun ride, one that has left me cheering, “Again, again!”

Hmm...

So how young is too young? Just askin.

I Caved

I had a moment of weakness. Maybe it was the cold or the long walk in the snow. Maybe it was the exhaustion and the ass pain from boxing class. Maybe it was the "White Irishman" I whipped up from a recipe on a friend's facebook page. Regardless, somewhere in the midst of IMing my friend from the bathtub, I caved.

"T, seriously, I need to go on a date. I will fly to Chicago. I need material."

"You going to date me?"

"No, my date needs a penis."

"Nice. Is there no one in KC?"

"It is like death valley here. Oh god, I think the White Irishman went to my head."

"Oww."

"Yep."

"Don't you have to get up early tomorrow? So why not men there? They can be found in interesting places."

"Married. Gay."

This transaction, my friends, is what I refer to as the dark scary place. Oh, how sad it is! Clearly I am all talk. You throw the right combination of snow, steam and cozy drinks and I am as desperate as the next gal.

The thing I think that is most sad about my moment of weakness was not that I suddenly wanted a date but that I wanted a date because I was bored and looking for writing material.

I can just hear my mother now. "LYnnnSaaaaY!"

So much for class. Not that I really overflowed with it to begin with.

My friend Amanda has a blog, although it is very hush hush. She sent me an entry once that I think kind of summed up the situation. She described her need for a man as completely circumstantial.

"I was opening a can of salsa today and finding the task to be obnoxiously more difficult than necessary…Can't a girl just have some salsa when she wants it?!?! It would be for my convenience in moments like this to have a man living in my home." Amanda talked about how she once longed for a man until it hurt. And then she, like so many of the incredible women I know, came to the conclusion that she didn't need a man. She is happy in her own skin and while she would love to find her soul mate, "I won't settle because I'm afraid to be alone, worried that I'm incomplete, or achingly lonely." My favorite part of her blog was when she said:

"So tomorrow when I have to get out of the car and pump my own gas, open my own door, and drive myself into the City, I might wish for a man to help out, but I won't need one and I won't feel sorry for myself if the white horse doesn't show up. Tomorrow I'll find my joy in who I've become and the life I've been allowed to live. If someday a man has enough courage to take me on then we'll hang Christmas lights together, argue fiercely, and make out often. Life is a gift and I am determined to live in every precious moment."

So tomorrow when I wake up with out a date planned in my immediate future, I will thank the stars for my lucky life and go living it. No need to look for material. It seems to find me wherever I go.

The Storm

There was a while, and I won't define the duration of "a while" as it is far too embarrassing, that the thought of him caused me physical pain. The 'him' in this story doesn't really matter - he is not the point.

The pain, the ache, it lived with me and it was as if it was my companion. I have written at length about life after the pain but on nights like tonight,walking in the falling snow, I almost miss it.

I know that sounds a little masochistic but the ache kept me company and now, well now it is just quiet.

I am happy, as close to content as I have ever known, but sometimes it is so quiet I just want to scream and throw things just to feel the echo in my heart.

I don't miss the 'him' in this story, not really, not enough to venture down that road, but sometimes I miss the storm.

Aww

So V is sitting here bitching, "Seriously, at this point it is just for show. Just get me a frame for Christmas. Cause at this point that is all it is good for."

Change

We were walking up the hill along side dark store fronts and upon a broken and uneven sidewalk that could have easily sent me falling on my face.

I leaned into him and put my hands in his coat pocket for warmth. I believe at that point I had given him back his mittens on principle. No straight man wears mittens – especially monogrammed ones.

I laced my arm through his to keep the world from spinning. The Schlitz and the Alka-Seltzer and the heat of the gallery had been too much and I had started to feel faint. I needed fresh air despite the fact that this, the first real night of winter cold, made it hard to breathe.

We trudged up the hill and I burrowed my cheek into his shoulder. This would be over soon, this acceptable intimacy, this phase of friendship that was just that – friendship - but held the added perk of being able to hold hands and hug and call each other "shmoopie".

My good friend regularly refers to life as an inevitable constant. I think that is what makes living beautiful, the change, the birth, the restoration and renewal. Knowing on days when it feels as though your heart hurts so much, that no one in the world has ever felt that kind of pain, that with each breath, each fraction of a moment, life is moving you one step closer to healing and letting go.

Nothing lasts forever but rather there is growth and there is fading away. I don't believe that one is necessarily better than the other. Our hearts just move like ocean waves, impossible to remain unmoving.

I feel so very fortunate to have had relationships throughout my life that make me believe in the quality of men and women. Somewhere along the way I became okay knowing that not all of these relationships would last forever. We change and flow from one phase of our lives to the next – one companion to the next.

The hope, I suppose, is that you find one, at the very least, that lasts a life-time but I am sure even in those cases no one party is the same at the beginning of the journey as they are at the end.

So as we walked up the hill and I clung to him for warmth, I joked that soon this would be over. Soon – god willing, he will find someone to be his pair for life and then she will have exclusive rights to his pocket. Just as it should be.

"One day you'll find a girl-friend and I won't get to cuddle with you anymore."

"Thank god. Geez, your cuddling could be cock blocking me right now."

My Fake Fa-La-La

"We're just like George and Issy," I said to V from beneath my Christmas tree.

"You mean you're a hot, tall blonde and I'm, umm, gay?"

Not exactly what I had intended but the evenings activities had definitely been enough to reconfirm not-so-gay-gay-best-friend status.

V and I reigned in the holiday season tonight by making dinner, decorating my Christmas tree while miming "Love Actually" as it played in the background, and of course drinking wine.

We cuddled. We do that - it is allowed at this state in our relationship, and we chatted about our current S.A.D. status. Not just my Seasonal Affective Disorder but our dueling cases of Seasonal Attention Deprivation.

It seems like just when a person couldn't be happier in their single status the holidays come around to smack you on the ass and say, "Hurry up and find somebody to fa-la-la-la-la!"

Still dating for the sake of dating or to make it through the holiday doldrums just doesn't seem right or fair to those involved.

V has been dating, although my over protective nature makes me think these girls aren't quite good enough for him.

A few weeks ago he went out with a girl who invited him out with some of her co-workers. He met them at a restaurant on the Plaza and when he got there he saw that her large group had already congregated in the back in a corner booth. Rather than get out to greet him, his date stayed where she was on the other side of the oblong table and left him to chat with a few of her colleagues, who he did not know.

"She should have got out," I railed. "If she invited you on a date she should have at least sat by you!"

"It wasn't a big deal," V assured me. He is the perpetual nice guy – one of the reasons he was the friend I invited over to help decorate my Christmas tree. I don't think any of my other friends would have tolerated my anal-retentiveness. V just grinned when I explained the dangerousness of the situation and said, "And how is this different than any other day with you?"

Still V deserves a girl who will get up and sit by him and instead he hangs out with bitchy girls like me.

This holiday season more than anything I want my friends to be happy. I want them to find someone to hold hands with in the snow and fa-la-la, if that is what they really want.

So any ladies out there who are nicer than me, drop me a line and I will hook you up with a real nice guy.

Weepies

I am not normally a big fan of turning to song lyrics for inspiration but on my drive to St. Louis this evening I started listening to a Weepies album again. I love this song and am actually using it as I work on my show "The Man Fast" which I will be performing January 15 - 17 at The Hemingway Gallery.

I don't feel lonely very often but on Thanksgiving, I always feel a sort of melancholy sweetness in watching the quiet moments between people in love, in the middle of all the holiday commotion. It isn't a longing as much as waiting and breathing - somedays it is just more difficult to be patient.

Anyway I think it is beautiful and so I sang it about 1000 times on my drive.

Somebody Loved by The Weepies

Rain turns the sand into mud

Wind turns the trees into bone

Stars turning high up above

You turn me into somebody loved

Nights when the heat had gone out

We danced together alone

Cold turned our breath into clouds

We never said what we were dreaming of

But you turned me into somebody loved

Someday when we're old and worn

Like two softened shoes

I will wonder on how I was born

The night I first ran away from you

Now my feet turn the corner back home

Sun turns the evening to rose

Stars turning high up above

You turn me into somebody loved

Mark your Calendars

A couple weeks ago I posted the blog "Defying / Defining Stereotypes", which I took down a couple of hours after I wrote it.

I have copied the initial post below because it was cause for the first time I got hate mail and one of the first times I have admitted that I was wrong. If you missed it, here is what I wrote:

I do my best not to men bash here on the Man Fast. Obviously, there is bashing but I try my best to limit it to specific individuals deserving of such a scolding and not an overall condemnation of gender.

I know too many great men to say that all guys are one thing or another.

Today, however, I have to make an exception. Today I have to say, "Guys. All of you. Can you please, pretty please, try to exercise a little bit of common sense?!?"

I realize that not all of you have the same definitions of what is and isn't acceptable behavior, but here, from me to you, I am going to illustrate, one last time, what crosses the line.

If a girl asks if her butt looks big – lie. I don't care if it looks like an alien space craft took residence in her behind, it is not your job to inform her of this – unless you are a.) her doctor and it is a medical emergency or b.) her trainer and she is paying you to be a dick. Everyone else – lie. I don't care if you think couples should talk about this stuff – lie.

And when you ask if size matters she will do the same.

Secondly, do not ever and I mean ever make jokes about a girl and her cycle. I don't feel like I should have to explain this. If you have to ask why, you don't deserve to date.

And lastly, unless you have expressed written consent, it is never ever okay to attempt to date your ex's friends, even if you guys are just buddies now. It enters into levels of weirdness that I feel like I should not have to point out and lest it seems I must.

One, it is uncomfortable for your friend/ex and it is highly insensitive, particularly if they have asked you not to. We do not want to hear you talking about trying to pursue our girls or indulge your shameless attempts to pretend like you don't know what you are doing. It is rude. Stop.

Two, it is uncomfortable for the girl you are pursuing. Whether or not she is interested it puts her in a horrible place and frankly, no one wants to think about dipping their toe into somebody else's pond. Maybe some girls are okay with diggin in on their girlfriends left-over but I am not and either are my friends. We have higher standards than that. That is why you are friends with us in the first place and why you should respect said friendship.

I can't explain why it would be okay for my exs/friends to date some of my friends and not others but that is just the way it is – and I am sure that that too is a universally accepted rule. You might not get it. You don't have to. You just have to use some common sense and accept what we say at face value.

I have spent a lot of time trying to be clearer in the way I communicate. And I think, "Stop trying to date my f-ing friends!" pretty much summed up my feelings on this matter, and yet boys will be boys, and it has now taken multiple face to face conversations, emails, phone calls, text messages and now one blatant blog post for it to sink in.

Not cool man. Not cool.

I suppose in retrospect the blog would have caused a little less commotion if I would have put it in context but I didn't and boy did it get some boys in a tizzy!

"Shicho" has left the following comment:

1. Seriously - don't ask us.

If you need a hug or want to know if we still [insert appropriate-to-specific-relationship-emotion here] you, then by all means do so...in simple and clear prose. But don't ask us to validate your insecurities. Please.

1a. If he's asking whether size matters, you're not dating a man.

2. re: 'cycle'; if he's making fun of it, you're not dating a man.

3. Uh...that's all you. If it's over, it's over. Really.

Part of me wanted to explain to Mr. Shicho and the others that the list, besides being a silly literary device that shouldn't be taken too seriously, was a comment on a series of incidents and conversations that I had had in the days prior but I knew that it really didn't matter and the situation really didn't warrant a defense.

The comments did get me thinking though. Thinking about conversations I had been having with V, who obviously was the subject of my rant number 3.

We have a close and somewhat dysfunctional relationship and the thought of getting stuck in the middle of his school girl crush made me uncomfortable.

But Mr. Shicho had a point. V and I haven't dated in a year and I was more than happy to set him up with some people, why not others? Why was my happiness more important than his?

I needed some time to deliberate. So I deleted the post, took a long hot bath and went to bed.

That night I had horrible nightmares, which is typical when I am contemplating something and when I woke up in the morning I rolled over and sent V a text.

"If you want to date her or any of my other friends, go for it. Delete all other comments."

"What?! Where is this coming from? I was going to send you a text last night after I read your blog that your point was duly noted."

"Well you should know I deleted the post."

"Yeah, I noticed that this morning. What was that all about?"

"I have decided that I was wrong – shocking, I know. That, like, never happens (insert valley girl accent)."

"Wait.... let me relish this for a moment.

"Shut up."

"Where is this coming from because I was thinking about it last night and I totally understand. I'd be weirded out if you started dating a guy friend of mine."

"Oh it would still totally weird me out and make me incredibly uncomfortable not to mention a little hurt - you did dump me (hehe) but that shouldn't matter. It was very selfish of me to think like that and if somebody makes you happy you shouldn't worry about me."

"But at the same time I should be considerate of you and your feelings because you are a dear friend. I value my friends to the point where they are my family b/c I don't have any extended family that I have real ties to (that can be a whole other conversation) and keep in mind that this is your blog - unfiltered, dirty but refreshingly honest."

"And apparently infuriating - I got some serious hate mail last night."

"Whoa, what happened?"

"My male readers didn't appreciate my take on the situation and they let me know it. But it's okay because… ugg...they were right."

"Wow. Did we just switch opinions? Did I fall for reverse psychology?"

"HAHAHA -now THIS is good blog material."

A few days later, V told me that he marked his calendar for the occasion. "The Day Lyndsey Was Wrong."

Dating with Nightmare

Yesterday I got at message from “Nightmare” about coming on his radio program to give some sort of dating advice.

My first thought was, “Hell Yeah.” (So Mr. Mare, you name the date and I’ll be there.)

Then I thought, what exactly could I possibly say? Don’t suck? And don’t settle?

I mean really, if I had to write a book on the subject, I think I would just title it, “Want a man? Get a life.”

If we spent all that wasted energy meant looking for Mr. & Ms. Right on looking for a happier me, I think the world would be a better place and people would be having better sex – but that is just me.

So that is my platform. Don’s settle on some guy or gal just because you don’t want to be alone and don’t be so sucky to date that you would never want your sister or brother or the anyone else you really care about to date someone like you.

In the meantime, forget waiting around. Find things that make you happy and live you life to the fullest. You never know where your path might lead.

And yes…. I realize how cheesy I sound.

D is for Disappointment

Dude is lucky. That is all I can say. He is lucky because I took the high road and lucky because I took some time to cool down. Lucky because what I am about to say is nothing compared to what I could.

None the less, Mr. Sweet Thang is dead. Not the man but the moniker.

Nope, Dude or Doug or D-Bag or Disappointment pretty much burned his rights to anonymity last night when he outlined his theories on dating which included “Climbing the Ladder.”

“Here is what you do. You find some chick who you are aren’t that attracted to but who is cool enough and you just bang her until someone better comes along. That is how I got the hottest chick I ever dated.” He then proceeded to describe said female and the runner up.

We were having dinner with V and another mutual friend and for reasons I don’t quite understand this guy decided to perform stand up. He wasn’t funny.

What he was, was mean, hurtful, prejudice, spiteful, crass and just plain asinine.

I have dated some real winners in my day but I have never before been forced to sit and tolerate the type BS he was spewing, not around or near me but straight in my direction. It was intentional, pointed, so much so that I spent the better part of his rant trying to figure out what I had done to deserve this type of behavior.

And then I checked myself – nothing rationalized that type of BS.

It wasn’t the fact that he insulted my job or my religion, my moral principals or my physical appearance. And it wasn’t the fact that no one said anything, which sucked but was understandable given how bizarre he was behaving. It wasn’t even the fact that when I finally had enough and got up mid-meal and left, that he merely laughed because he was so amused with himself.

It was the fact that he knew exactly what he was doing, he knew that it was shitty and he had the nerve to fall back on the “It’s just who I am” excuse.

You know what I say to that? Grow a pair. Man up.

As a society we spend billions of dollars a year on improvement. Home repairs and car repairs and maintaining or enhancing our physical appearance.

Botox and treadmills, diet drinks and implants. Bigger muscles, increased endurance, changes in quantities of the hair in various locales.

And yet, when we act like shits, we are stubborn or arrogant, mean or unempathetic it is too easy to say, "That is just who I am."

I have dated so many guys, I have known so many friends who use this excuse as a way to get out of taking a long hard look at their "stuff."

I get it - we all have "stuff" and I believe that we have to give each other a little leeway, some room to navigate through and around our "stuff."

But having issues is no excuse to be unkind.

There are very few things that make me really angry. I have been thinking about this a lot lately, trying to really remember all the times within the last few years that I have been that kind of upset. Every single time I have reached that point, where my whole body tenses, my throat gets dry and my cheeks get flush, there has been an issue of unfairness - that I have perceived to have been treated unfairly or unfairness was put on someone I love.

I didn't deserve the jabbings I got last night and the fact that "that is just who he is" is not good enough.

Your behavior hurts people? Man up. Become better. Grow.

Life is short and while changes that involve the core of who we are are difficult and sometimes painful, they are necessary, imperative lest we live a shallow life.

I have low expectations that the former Mr. Sweet Thang would give two shits about my feelings about his behavior, or thoughts on its deeper meaning. I am pretty sure that he could care less that I was bummed not about losing someone I was casually dating but at losing someone I could have cosidered a friend. No I am pretty sure he made his feelings about me abundantly clear when he said, "You know I am like an Avril Lavigne song. Look it up and then you will understand why I am one way with you and one way around other people."

D is for Doug. D is for sad, sad disappointment.

Just a guy

"Do you have bipolar?"

"No. Just a guy."

There is a reason I don't date - hell, the reason I have a whole blog about it. Dating is complicated, kind of a pain in the ass.

I suppose it doesn't have to be but I have yet to meet someone who can say, "I like you. Do you like me? Can we go out sometime?"

We don't communicate. We play games. We think we are being clear, but not so much.

"I don't make plans."

"Well, I do."

I am busy girl, and lately even busier than normal. I have barely had time to see my friends, work out, even write but I make time. Because I have to, because it is important.

This is why I plan, and why I expect that if someone expects any of my time that they give me the heads up. Otherwise I will just assume that I am off their radar and act accordingly.

"So are you coming out tonight or what?"

"I told you I am going out of town. If I had known you wanted to go out I would have waited. I texted you."

"Well I didn't know that I had to respond that moment or you were going to leave."

Yeah, pretty much.

Last weekend my girlfriend called me because she was pissed at the guy she was seeing. They had made plans to spend the day together and at noon he was still sleeping. She was at his house, without her car, basically held captive. She was angry because she was wasting her day waiting for him, when she could have just been doing her own thing.

I told her to let him win this one because he was exhausted but I was wrong and after having a second to think about it I understood her point.

We spend a lot of time waiting, trying to be accommodating, trying to make an effort. And it is not a complaint. We like to do it.

As much as dating is work, it is fun. The work is fun. We wouldn't do it if we didn't like it.

But the mind games, the wondering, the insecurity and the BS, that's not so fun.

I told V once that I stopped looking to date, looking for someone because when the right person came along I would just know. Not like an "ah-ha" light shining down from the heavens type of moment but like when you know that pizza and Chinese just don't sound that good for dinner but a burger will totally hit the spot.

I figure at that point, maybe it won't be so difficult. There will be no "does he/does she?" There will be a chance at mature honest conversation. Maybe even with planning and a little bit of effort.

Good Idea?

"Are you sure it is such a good idea?" My mother had been expressing her concern at my selected forum for communication with Mr. Sweet Thang and others.

I suppose blogging wasn't an acceptable method back in her day.

All the way back then.

"Probably not but then again immaturity is easily matched with immaturity."

Truthfully I never thought Mr. Sweet Thang really cared. He told me on more than one occasion that he was like a small child, enjoying attention, positive or negative, but last weekend I began to wonder.

We had a really lovely day in Lawrence - I know, I did anyway. He is a little harder to read. I had never been and it was a gorgeous day to walk around. I thought to myself, "I really enjoy this person" and I let myself get swept up in it. Afterward, as I was sneaking out of his house, he asked if I would blog about it.

I said no - there had been nothing "not normal" to write about, which sounded far worse than the compliment I had intended. It had been a nice day but I couldn't help but feel strange.

I started to think maybe it wasn't okay to write about not dating when you are actually dating someone, kind of.

I invited Mr. Sweet Thang out to our group get together last night. I thought it might tame the weird feeling.

He didn't want to leave the confines of Kansas and told my girlfriend who was trying to persuade him in a way that seriously pissed her off.

His dickish tendencies are one of the things that amused me about me but when you start to actually like a person, dickish funny tends to shift to just plain dickish, and the aggitation & insecurity that come with dating are one of the reasons I have been avoiding it in the first place.

"You just don't date. You have a whole blog about it." he said to tonight. His voice was bitchy and it caught me off guard. Maybe he didn't like being a through-line of my posts. Who could blame him.

"If you can break a guy he doesn't deserve to be having sex?" Obviously, he was less amused about my post from the night before than my girlfriend who made the comment.

Okay, perhaps I shouldn't repeat everything that my friends say when they are irritated at the boys in my life.

I don't know where things are with Mr. Sweet Thang. It is too hard to tell beyond the joking. Maybe my mom is right, and a direct approach would be a more appropriate way to go. I am trying. We will see.

As far as the blog goes, I guess I will just keep writing, at least until it bites me in the ass or someone else tries directness and tells me not to.

Coupledom

Tonight I took my newish friend Amanda to the airport and on the way we caught up. We caught up about boys.

Before she even got in the car I knew this is what we were going to discuss. I think sometimes when women are in the early stages of getting to know one another they can’t help but gravitate to this universally understood topic.

Amanda shared her current complaints about the opposite sex and I mine. Then she said, “I just get so tired of having fun things to do and then not being able to go because I have no one to take me.”

“So go.” I said. “You have to just go. Don’t wait to have someone. Go enjoy life. That is how you meet people anyway.”

“I know…” she said the way a smoker would when being told for the thousandth time that she was bound to get cancer. She should quit but it is just so damn hard.

“It is hard,” I concurred with her silent objection. “Particularly, here-“

“Where I should be married already,” she interjected.

“Where you should be married and have already popped out a few babies.”

This is the reality of the Midwest and Amanda has a completely valid concern, here in the land of coupledom. But concern isn’t reason enough.

I know it isn’t easy, putting yourself out there, going it alone but sometimes you just have to do it. Sometimes you just have to learn to stand on your own two feet despite what you fear others might think.

The first few times are always awkward but before you know it, that independence becomes an intoxicating, necessary part of life – but maybe that is just me.

Amanda is a cool girl and I am sure she will find a great guy with whom to share her experiences but between now and then, I hope she doesn’t miss out.

Deaf Andy

Mr. Sweet Thang’s dog is basically the canine manifestation of him. He is cute and funny and annoying as hell. He has beguiling ice blue eyes and you can’t help but want to hug him, even as he attempts to hump you.

As much as you hate yourself for liking him, you do.

Tonight, I spent a PG-13 evening out in BFE.

Miles past Johnson County strip malls and industrial parks, I abandoned civilization for an evening of board games, Pan’s Labyrinth and cuddling.

And Deaf Andy.

Deaf Andy has no boundaries, much like Mr. Sweet Thang but for two dogs with excessive slobber, they sure know how to show a girl a good time.

When I finally drove back toward the comfort of city lights at an hour that was far too respectable, I couldn’t help but smile. I think Mr. Sweet Thang thought I was trying to prove a point but really, it was just too lovely to stay any longer.

I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed an evening so sweet and innocent – hard to imagine with someone I call Mr. Sweet Thang, but it was.

Our generations seems to race past this phase and for a moment it felt nice to linger and remember the nervous sensation that accompanied the first sweet kisses of something new.

The rest of it will find its way, perhaps sooner than it should but for one night it was nice to just be nice.

Lunch Break Rebuttal

So Tony's Kansas City wrote a post about my blog: http://www.tonyskansascity.com/2009/10/for-better-or-worse-most-hot-women-in.html

I don't have much time but here are my thoughts.

Tony, Tony, Tony.

I think you missed my point.

While I appreciate that you not only wrote about my blog, but that you used the word “great” – and let’s face it, there isn’t a woman or man out there that doesn’t enjoy a little flattery - I am not sure what to think of your sardonic summation.

Maybe, what I take issue with is that fact that you said that extremely hot broads are “mostly” unsure of themselves – (although again, I’ve got to admit, I dig the “extremely hot” part. Shameless, I know.)

I think the thing that we all need to come to terms with is that we are ALL a little unsure of ourselves. It is not just a chick thing, not an issue of attractiveness or socio-economic hierarchy. It is just reality.

We all have the parts of ourselves that make us a little uneasy, particularly when it comes to the opposite sex. Things that jiggle, things that sag, things that may be smaller or larger than preferred. Not to mention the wide array of possible personality defects.

And I am not going to get into a big PC thing about the societal pressures and whatnot – it has been covered. (Except to say that I went to buy my three year-old god-daughter a Barbie recently, and dear god, Barbie is a slut.)

Maybe we have all just gotten a little detached from reality and what real beauty truly is. So we try too hard or self-deprecate more than we probably should.

The most machismo, Ed Hardy wearing, pseudo-stud is probably an ex-band geek with an over-bite.

I am not judging. I LOVE me an ex-band geek.

But just because we have moments when we are scared, are a little more insecure than we would ever admit outside the safety of our best friends’ living rooms, we aren’t weak. Our self-esteem hasn't been shot to hell.

We aren’t somehow less than. We are human. And that is awesome.

I am pretty tough on the men in my life and even harder on myself but maybe what this whole thing should teach us is to just ease up. Let's enjoy the fact that chances are the cute guy across the bar is on some level just as freaked out as you are.

And the blogger on the other side of the city might be excited to learn that even “extremely hot” ladies are looking for a nice guy who see them the way the sometimes struggle to see themselves - and they will do the same for him.