Monthly Archives: May 2007

moving at the speed of a cobra that has the speed of two cobras

Sorry, Bunny.  I have been dying to use that clever line for just about ever now.

But why do I use it now?  Because, less than one week after dating this darling man, we are exclusive.  That’s right!  GF/BF.  We’re the Advanced Placement Students of online dating.  And I haven’t freaked out yet!  Of course, that may be due to all the alcohol we’ve been consuming.

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karma owed me. big time.

Its been about 5 years since my last important relationship, and possibly a little longer since I’ve been completely addled with the butterflies.  Since then, I’ve gone on multitudes of dates that ranged from great to disappointing to downright creepy.  I had begun to think that maybe I had gotten too old to feel butterflies again; that maybe I was dead inside and doomed to spending the rest of my life in dating purgatory.

(Actually, my mother tells me that the Vatican recently announced that there is no purgatory.  Nice of them to take 2 thousand years to make that determination.  So, I suppose I really would have been relegated to dating hell.  Which wasn’t so far off the mark…)

Thankfully, a drunken cocktail party in Leeds reminded me that we all die alone.  No matter what.  The copious amounts of bison grass vodka, pineau de charentes, and champagne-cognac cocktails made this little coally bit of truth shine ever so brightly.  For some reason that made me feel a helluva lot better and I discovered a sort of zen where dating was concerned.  Yes, yes; it sounds entirely counterintuitive.  But, by accepting that sad knowledge I am far more focused on enjoying every minute of every day and on squeezing the most happiness out of every freaking second.  Its a relief, really!

I think I faced a fear there (you Dune fans – all none of you – will totally get the Litany reference and you will revere me; I would have been a kick ass Bene Gesserit) and I think it (the resulting zen) may be why I was so ready to plunge headlong into romance this past weekend.  And this week.  And this upcoming weekend.  I have gone blissfully insane and, it seems, so has he.  I don’t care.  I’m not analyzing it or him.  I’m not worrying about it today or tomorrow or the day after tomorrow.  I’m just going to ride the wave and see where it takes me/us.  The dating profiles are all off/hidden and my colleagues are suddenly finding me much more relaxed and fun.

Except, I hope karma realizes how much he owes me.  Seriously.  At this point karma really ought to be my bitch.  Bitch betta have my money!  Just kidding karma.  Love your work, babe!

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killing me softly with her pigtails

she’s so cute I could die42 more days till I get to hang with, objectively, the world’s most impossibly gorgeous and funny 2 year old.  Did you check the hair of insanity

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now i remember why dating can be fun

Gah.  What a weekend.  I’m exhausted! 

Even though I promised that I wouldn’t blog about this, its the only thing rattling about my head – and can probably only be exorcised by writing about it. 

 Met a guy.  Online.  Went on a first date to the Trixie Little and Evil Hate Monkey burlesque show at Palace of Wonders. [Note:  as odd/inappropriate as this sounds, it was a great idea, I had been dying to go, and good time was had by all.  There was a performer, Miss Indigo Blue, who got her tassels flying in opposite directions!!  She’s my new hero.]

So, he gallantly walks me home and we proceed to have an awkward moment at my gate.  You see, I asked him in for a cup of tea before he made his way home and he politely declined.  Even though I’d had about 3 or 4 whiskies at this point, I thought I had read his body language differently.  Well, it turns out that I had not misread things after all.  While he was waiting for me to unlock my door, I turned around and did my usual Hey! -I-have-an-awesome-hand-of-cards-here! -Look! thing and bluntly said, “Jeez.  Not even a goodnight kiss?”  Well, he kindly obliged and then changed his mind about the tea.  I told you fools that I had skilz.

“Then what happened?”, you ask?  You cheeky little monkeys.  As the TRP says, “Its all good in Allez’s ‘hood.”  The date was extended into a lovely mellow Saturday evening, although we were both a bit careworn as a result of the excitement/alcohol/hot pastie action of the previous evening.  Chemistry… I’d almost forgotten what it was like. 

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pin the beer on the babe

Back when I was a youngster (just outta grad school), unemployed and living at the beach with a friend, I used to get into a fair bit of mischief.  My friend, who we will refer to as The Ritalin Posterchild (not really – she just has the energy of a class of kindergartners), came up with this “grown up” version of pin the tail on the donkey.  She found one of those Tiger Beatesque movie idol posters – one of those posters one would find in the center of those adolescent girl magazines that had several darling yet vapid young men gazing out at you in a sultry-yet-not-too-sexy way – and pinned it up in our condo’s pantry.  Then, she made little cutouts of beer bottles.  Our pre-going out ritual consisted of downing a couple beers and then taking a pass at “Pin the Beer on the Babe”.   We would then seek out and attempt to chat up men who resembled the babes we had pinned. 

Yeah.  Maybe we were bored.  Maybe we were drinking far too many Icehouses for our own good.  But, good grief, we had fun.

TRP is coming to visit this weekend.  I’ve prepared by having my apartment cleaned and locating a bottle of bison grass vodka.  I’m not sure if we’ll be reliving our youth, but will surely be partaking of the bottle of faux (as you’ll no doubt recall, they don’t sell the real stuff in the states as the FDA has concerns it is too toxic for the general public – oh sure! – let the Europeans have all the poisonous fun) bison grass vodka I procured from Schneider’s last night.  Unf, TRP is coming up to get away from some rather serious and sad marriage issues (cough, he’sajackass, cough) and I hope to provide some moral support via booze, fatty food, shoe shopping, and maybe Blades of Glory or Hot Fuzz. 

TRP is a trip.  Truly.  She is a tall, lithesome brunette, with long dark curly hair and sparkly brown eyes.  She’s never really understood how hot or fun she really is.  Once, we were at a Dillon Fence concert at the Farm – it was her turn to drive so I was at the bar getting an adult beverage – when I discovered I had lost her.  I was searching the crowd when I suddenly realized she was on stage.  With the band.  Dancing with them.   I was all astonishment as she peered out into the crowd, located me, and waved like a 5 year old.  Then I put down the drink.  I knew I was in for a long and interesting night.  It ended up being the night that I had to drive her carback to the condo – I steered and clutched while she shifted and told me when to clutch.  It was a white-knuckle ride for me – I don’t drive stick-shift.  Still, it could have been worse; I won’t write about the night we went to Taco Hell.  She drove that night while I played the fool.  And well, might I add…

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that’s a whole lotta naked

18,000 people got naked for a photo in Mexico.  Together.  All in the same place and at the same time.

 We can go ahead and list this as one of the things I will never do.  You can go ahead and thank me.

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i miss the brits (but my liver doesn’t)

After returning from my trip, I came down with a severe sinus infection.  A bummer, but it also gave my liver and kidney’s a chance to heal.  The Splendid Brits threw a cocktail party the day before Easter and introduced me to a couple cocktails that haunt me still (albeit in a really good way). 

drinks table

Evidently, one cannot buy the original bison grass vodka in the US due to stupid FDA rules.  We can only buy some watered down/less poisonous version, which really takes all the fun out of it!  Fortunately, I have the champagne-cognac cocktail to fall back on.

 tipsy ladies

So, the above photo was taken a couple hours into the cocktail party.  You can tell by my inability to focus and the fact that my immaculately applied eyeliner has begun to fade.  I am flanked by my host and new friends. 

The blonde on the right was wonderfully funny and we were in utter sync that night.  I remember thinking that if I could get her brother to marry me then I could stay in the country and get to hang out with her always!  Ah yes, the delusions of drink.  At one point a couple of us were discussing singlehood, and the inevitable point of not wanting to die alone came up, to which the wee fun blonde blithely said, “Well, if you really think about it, we all die alone.”  Excellent point.  Less focus on dating: more focus on drinking/fun.

The other wee blonde, in the vintage dress, may be descended from nobility via a lord’s liaison with a downstairs maid.  Accordingly, she was referred to as Lady Percy by the Beau.  Lady Percy is working on a couple books – one on ghosts and another on the history of sleep.   She was targeted by a particularly savage and ill seagull while we were in Whitby but handled it with aplomb.  I’m pretty sure I would have been sick all over myself if I had been the target.

In any case, the highlight of this party (for me) was when I revealed my age to some partygoers to their absolute shock.  I was guessed to be about 6-8 years younger, and now am thinking about changing my age on my online dating profiles as a result (kidding – although a friend who is older has done this and I have chided her for it!).  One attendee asserted that I must bathe in the blood of virgins.  I assured him that I did not, preferring the slightly less expensive/violent method of seeing a dermatologist regularly and wearing sunscreen.  This shy man came uncomfortably close to having a very tipsy Yank throw herself at him.  Fortunately, drinks continued to be pressed into my hand and then the party took a dangerous turn when somebody discovered a bottle of grenadine and began various experiments (sometimes with dire results). 

Did I mention that they were very fond of margaritas there?  Did I mention the meal at the Mexican Yorkshire restaurant?  So, Mexican is popular there – not as much as curry but it isn’t like they have as many Mexicans over there to help sort out the cuisine situation.  In any case, I got to experience the Yorkshire version of Mexican one night.  Here are my observations:

Music – Europop instead of Mariachi/Salsa – this was unsettling.  I’m also not used to non-latinos taking my order.

Decor – half of the place was right, but the Spaghetti Western posters were wrong.

Food – no free salsa and chips!  For the love of Maria, Jose, y Bebe Christo!  Instead, they had these little pots of spicy peanuts on the tables.  Against my friends’ recommendation for the burrito, I went with the chicken enchilada.  It was pretty dry and came only with beans.  The burritos seemed  superior and came only with rice.  It was a surreal experience.

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