Currently Chasing: A Mop (and not the one on your head)

I was reminded recently of a story:

Awhile back I got a phone call from a friend. She said that while she was getting her hair cut, her hairdresser mentioned that she had a client who had a brother who had just recently gotten divorced. She said that her client had asked her if she had any single friends that he could set his brother up with.

This sent my friend into action. She said, “I have a friend I could set your client’s brother up with.” Her hairdresser said, “You do? That’s awesome.”

With that she called her client, got his brother’s number, gave it to my friend and then guess what? She called me.

“Ok, so my hairdresser gave me the number of this single guy that I think you should call.”

“Is he just some random guy or did she actually know him?” I ask.

“She knows him silly. Well, kind of. She knows his brother. But he has been married before and he has two kids, so he must be attractive.”

“What? Just because someone is married and has kids doesn’t mean they are attractive,” I quickly point out.

“Fine. All I’m saying is someone fucked him, twice. And decided he was worth marrying. That’s all I’m saying. I’ve seen your recent dates, I know you haven’t been picky lately. CALL HIM.”

So imagine the message I leave on his machine.

“Um, hi. I got your number from a friend of mine who got it from her hair dresser who got it from your brother who said you were recently divorced. Congratulations, call me back.”

And he does. At 9:30 that same evening I get a message on my voicemail.

“Hey, HI! I would love to meet you. The fact that you called a complete stranger just to get a date means you may be just the desperate kind of chick I’m looking for.”

Ok. He didn’t actually say that, but you get my point.

So we decide to meet at Duclaw. I ask him how I’ll know him. He says he will be the guy with long hair who looks like one of the Ramones and he’ll be wearing Vans with pineapples on them. I laughed, as if he was just being funny. He wasn’t. I recognized him immediately. His hair was jet black, long, hanging in his eyes. He was definitely holding on to an era. Pineapple Vans and all.

We hug and start talking and we actually hit it off very well. I decide to invite him to my roommate’s birthday party later that week. He shows up and right away my friends are confused.

“Seriously? That’s him?”

“Um, yeah, seriously,” I say.

“He’s a fucking Beatle.”

“Yeah I know right?” I respond.

He brings a gift for my roomie. It’s a CD from a band he’s a huge fan of. It’s a local band named Kidney Stone. He asks if he can play a track for her. She hesitantly says yes. It’s a song called Superman. The lyrics go something like…

“Who’s your superman now, you fucking gimp ass bitch.”

Yeah, very appropriate. A classic even. And he is banging his head and playing air guitar the whole time. And everyone is staring. And right then I realize, I’m going to date this guy. He’s too much drama not to.

So we go out on a couple of more dates and each one is better than the last. Only one problem. He’s a pot smoker. Shocker right? He doesn’t smoke around me but he smokes…and it bothers me.

So after a few weeks I end up at his house for a sleepover. It’s a great house, but it is dirty as hell. Not messy, just dirty. There aren’t dishes in the sink but it is filthy. There isn’t anything strewn about in the living room, but it’s a wreck. It just feels abandoned. We go upstairs and it only gets worse. I’m actually afraid to get in the bed.

I tell him I have to pee. He tells me I CAN’T use the bathroom in the bedroom. Instead I have to use the bathroom in the hall. When I enter it, I’m scared. It looks as if it has never seen a sponge. There is a thick black ring of death inside the toilet. The shower is a moldy, mildewy mess. If I wash my hands in here they will get dirtier, I just know it. I hover over the toilet, do my business and make my way back to the room.

There’s no way I can sleep here. I ask him why I can’t go into the other bathroom. He tells me it’s his weed room. Wow. He has a special room for his weed? It’s probably the cleanest room in the house. I tell him I have to go and quickly make my way out of his house, and subsequently, his life.

He sends me an email a few days later. It says that I shot an arrow and it landed a bullseye to his heart. He really fell for me, and he’s sorry that his first love, Mary Jane, is getting in the way of us being together. He cares about me, but she’s always been there for him. And he can’t give her up. Not now, and probably not ever. The letter was a page and half long. I wrote back one sentence.

Tell this Mary Jane girl that you care about so much to come over and clean your dirty ass house.

Currently Chasing: A Past That Doesn't Remind Me of a Present

Is it better that someone knows all of your personal secrets or are those better kept to yourself?

Both are shitty options. If they know all, they judge, if they don’t know at all, then they don’t understand. It led me to contemplate blogs, journals and diaries. A friend of mine commented on how impressed he was with the way I could seemingly write heart-on-sleeve blogs. But he has no clue. These blogs are edited. They are re-read and read again. They are scanned through and often read aloud. A lot happens to these blogs before I hit the preview and post button.

There was a time in my life when I was painfully honest. I wrote my life on composition notebooks. I labeled them with dates and locations. My ex husband read through them once and told me I should burn them. Surely they would haunt me if someone broke into my house and stole them. Hell, they haunt me now. The contents. And they leave me wondering. Have I changed?

Typical Journal Entry:

Aug. 12, 1996

Today was a good day. I went to the movies with Drew. Drew is such a great guy. I wish he wasn’t so in love with Beth. She makes me sick. Drew deserves so much better than her. She loves to work out. So what? I tell jokes. Isn’t a good personality better than a good body? Oh yeah, that’s a lie ugly people tell themselves. I love Drew.

Aug. 13, 1996

Stew: A new guy. Totally cute. He’s a Mormon. He’s married. But that shouldn’t matter right? Cause he’s Mormon. I’m going to make him my friend. Drew and Beth went to the movies together. Barf.

Aug. 14, 1996

Stew is so funny. Mike told me he likes Mandy. Why does that make me jealous? I don’t even like Mike. But now I do. I told him I liked him. He asked me why I waited until he was interested in someone else. Well duh? So me and Mike are dating. He’s nice, but a little hairy. Everyone calls him Chewbacca. I think it’s funny.

Aug. 15, 1996

Today Mike found out he’s going to be stationed in Japan. Bad timing right? I told him we should break up. I’m not good with long distance relationships. Stew and I went to the movies tonight. Mike was upset that I didn’t want to spend time with him. I saw Drew and Beth holding hands outside. I guess they are together now. Maybe they should go life weights together since she’s such a guy. Yuck, I hate them together.

Aug. 16, 1996

Ben asked me out today. He’s alright. I told him I would think about it. I need to stop hanging out with Stew. I’m starting to like him too much. Mike doesn’t talk to me much anymore. I guess Mandy is dating someone else and Mike is pissed that he wasted time with me. Whatever. Drew and Beth are probably going to get married. I wonder if he’ll take her last name.

Aug. 17, 1996

I need to go on a diet. I ate four pieces of pizza today. I feel like a pig. Ben said don’t need to lose weight. My friend Shannon said that guys like fat chicks because they are less likely to cheat. My friend Mark said that’s not true because his brother dated a fat girl and she ended up pregnant by someone else. So I’m confused. Should I lose weight to get a guy or gain weight to keep a guy?

Aug. 18, 1996

I’m done with men. Ben was making out with Crystal today. I didn’t see them but Shannon told me. Did he think I wasn’t going to find out? Crystal is such a hooker. I’m going to ask Mike if he wants to go to the movies tomorrow. Hopefully he will get me out of this slump.

Aug. 19, 1996

I should not have asked Mike to the movies. He wanted to hold my hand. Man, doesn’t he realize I just needed a friend. I hate feeling pressured to be intimate. I held his hand. He tried to kiss me in the car. I told him I was getting a cold and it wasn’t a good idea. He said he was sick already so it didn’t matter. I still said no. He was pissed. When we got back Mandy was making out with Carlos. That didn’t help the situation. I’m done with men.

Aug. 20, 1996

Ken checked in today. He is adorable. Tall. Short blond hair. Really quite. I am going to talk to him. I ate too much today. I’m gross. Ben apologized for making out with Crystal. I called him a fuck stick. He said he heard I was in love with Stew. Whatever. Stew is married. I told Ben I didn’t want to talk to him anymore. Shannon told me Rick was asking about me. There is no way I would ever be with Rick. He scratches his balls all the time. It is so irritating. Like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. No way. I wonder if Ken has any bad habits? I kissed Drew today. I love him.

*Today* Not much has changed.

Currently Chasing: A Kiss

Ok, so I’m looking up relationship in the dictionary. Mutual dealings or connections, as among persons groups or nations. With this definition I am in a relationship with every person I know, and a couple of nations.

Now let’s look up seeing each other. As a whole, the term does not exist, but if you look under ‘see’ it does say, to visit regularly and socially. So, if you are “seeing someone,” I guess you could say the two of you are in a relationship. But under these flimsy definitions I ‘see’ most of the people I work with, a few people in Virginia, and a couple in California. By this definition, I should feel most committed to my daughter. For it is her I ‘see’ most often, and her I find myself considering when decisions are made that affect my life.

Under no circumstance to these definitions mention anything about monogamy, commitment, loyalty or responsibility. Nowhere in these certain terms does it talk at all about exclusivity or liability.

Even the term boyfriend is defined as a favored male companion or sweetheart. Meaning, and I think Sublime said it perfectly, “you’re not the only one, but you’re the best.”

And none of the terms equal the mutual understanding that kissing another person would jeopardize that act of ‘seeing’ each other.

So here is my sitch. I am ‘seeing’ someone. We have not established or labeled ourselves. We have only agreed that we enjoy each other’s company. Yet kissing someone else this weekend sent him into a bit of a spin up. He was angry. When I asked him why he was so upset, he answered, “You cheated on me. Wouldn’t you be mad if I cheated on you?”

“That question left me speechless and wondering, at what point does someone have the right to ask you to consider them? At what point do you give someone power over your other relationships, and your relations? And at what point do you just cut the shit and just say “I want you to be the only one and the best?”

In this day and age, do you even ever get that right? It seems to me that being faithful is not human nature. If it was, everyone would be doing it, instead of just doing it.

Currently Chasing: A Ranking Board

I hear my coworker talking today about a smoking hot girl. Now of course I want to know who he’s talking about, and if she’s in this building, and is she cuter than me and you know, just all of the normal bullshit that comes along with being a seemingly secure, but truly insecure female.

He tells me that he’s talking about a beautiful blond college student that is coming to a party with him this weekend. Immediately the jokes start:

“Does she know you’re broke?”

“Yes, she knows,” he said.

“Does she know you do tricks to pay your rent?”

“Yep, she’s aware,” he said.

“Do you think maybe you’re just a project for her?”

“Wow, I’ve never been called a project before,” he said.

“What college does she go to? Is it legit? Is she just playing you before she cuts out your organs and sells them on the internet?”

“I looked up the college, it’s legit.”

“Maybe she just saw ‘she’s out of my league,’ and thought it was an endearing movie and has decided to cast herself in the sequel,” I said.

“That is probably exactly it,” he responded back.

This is seconds before he rips ‘the fart heard round the office’ and follows it up with the phrase, ‘that’s rank.’

So now I’m curious.

Hey J, I’m gonna blog about this. Tell me how you met her, I yell out.

She emailed me on Myspace, he said. Which is odd he adds, because I’m hardly ever on there anymore. (which leads me to wonder why the hell this smoking hot girl is on there either.)

“And she’s hot?” I add.

“Yes, very hot,” he says.

“And blond?” I add.

“Yep, blond ,” he said.

“And you’ve seen her in person?” I ask.

“Nope, not yet, just photos,” he responds…wishing immediately that he could take that back and pissed that he gave me the ammo.

I hope she ranks higher than J’s fart. I hope for her sake, she wears a gas mask. And I hope for J’s sake, that’s the only mask she’ll need.

Currently Chasing: A Menu

I went to Baskin Robbins today. I was planning to go through the drive thru so I didn’t bother changing out of my PJs.

So I pull up and look at the menu. I don’t see any ice cream, only coffee items and breakfast sandwiches. The speaker lady talks…

“What can I get you?”

“Do you sell ice cream through the drive thru?” I ask.

“Yes.”

“How do I know what you have available?” I ask.

“You can come in and look.”

“That would defeat the purpose of the drive thru,” I said.

“Yes, but it saves us room on the menu.”

What the fuck are they saving room for? Why don’t they fill that room with, oh I don’t know, THE FUCKING ICE CREAM CHOICES AVAILABLE? I don’t go to Mcdonalds and guess at what they have inside. Hmmm. Do you have onion rings? How about meat loaf? Taco salad? No, I don’t have to guess. There is a fucking sign near the speaker that lets me know they have shit, shit salad, shit with cheese, and happy shit for kids.

So I ask if there is a Heath Bar Sunday of some sort.

“No.”

“Um, what about something with a snickers?”

“No.”

“Well, this is fun. How about a banana split.”

“We are out of bananas.”

“Is there something you’d recommend?” I ask.

“Coming in and looking at the 31 flavors,” she said.

“I look like dog shit and I’m in my pajamas,” I say.

“Well there are too many options for me to give over the intercom.”

“What is your favorite thing?”

“Coffee Ice cream with caramel.”

“I hate Coffee,” I say.

“What would you like then?”

“Just give me a donut.”

“What kind?”

Of course those flavors aren’t listed either, but I know that I like sprinkle donuts so I just ask for two of those. When I get up to the window to pay I realize I’ve forgotten my money. I don’t even bother explaining. I just leave. When I get home I assess what snacks I have in the house. Turns out there are even less options than Baskin Robbins. But at least I can be in my Pjs to choose.

Currently Chasing: A Punch In The Face

This story ends with a punch to the mouth. And this blog ends with the video of it. And trust me, the ends justify the means.

My Bob Evans Boy tells me a story about how a couple of years ago he and his friends were partying at his house. He had a drink spilt all over him and decided to shower off. Now, you know the moment when you are in the shower, and you just know someone is in there with you? Well he got that exact feeling…a little bit of a breeze confirmed his suspicions. So he looked up, like most of us do, waiting for a pitcher of ice water to be dumped on our head. Instead out of his peripheral vision he sees what no man wants to see while he’s showering. A penis. Unless it's his own.

Then he realizes what is happening…his friend is pissing on his leg! Before he can even assess the situation he realizes there is another penis on the other side of him…pissing on his other leg! His friends run out laughing, he showers for an extra 15 minutes, scrubbing his legs like he’s about to put them for sale on ebay…and exits the shower. He forgave, but he didn’t forget.

Recently he is hanging with those same friends. There is also a very good looking girl hanging with them. One of his friends (the bigger of the two) decides he needs to cool off. He heads for the shower. Bob Evans knows this is his chance. He sneaks into the shower, pulls out his cock and begins to pee into the shower.

At this point there are two things you should know. #1. Once he starts peeing, he physically cannot stop. #2. If he laughs while he pees, he’ll shit his pants. Back to the story.

So he’s pissing into the three inch gap between the curtain and the wall. He moves the curtain a little bit and is shocked to see that his friend is lying down in the shower. MASTERBATING! He realizes really quickly that he is in fact pissing on his friends FACE. He tries to cut it off, but (refer to rule 1.) He wants to laugh his ass off but (refer to rule 2.) His friend jumps up and Bob Evans just continues to piss down his leg and then sprays a bit on his back, just for good measure. Then he takes off out of the bathroom.

When he gets back to his other friend and tells him what happened, his friend looks at him deadpan and says, dude, you need to leave.

“No, no, no. Remember two years ago? You guys peed on me. It’s cool.”
“No man, he’s going to be pissed!”
“Now way, it’s cool. Trust me.”

So his friend wraps up in the shower and enters the room in a towel. He locks the door behind him. And says…

“What are we going to do about this?”
“Do about what,” Bob Evans says. “Dude, you guys peed on me two years ago, we are even.”
“Asshole, I pissed on your leg…and you pissed on my back…and with that, we are even. But what are we going to do about the fact that you pissed on my FACE!”
“Do you want to piss on my face?”
“No. I want to punch you in the face.”
“I don’t have dental insurance.”
“I don’t care. Your options are, try to make it out of here past me and that locked door. Or jump out of the second story window. I won’t even chase you. You can just jump out and leave.”
“I’ll break my legs.”
“Well those are your options.”
“Will you wear a glove at least?”
“No.”
“Can I wear a mouth guard?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, I guess I’ll take a punch in the face.”

See Video Below:

What you don't hear is Bob Evans, swollen mouth and all, yell ...
"Dude, that was totally worth pissing in your face."

And with that...I think I need a shower. Minus the Golden.

Currently Chasing: Penny Rolls

I was reminded today that match.com is the devil. Not like I didn’t already know this, but still. It helps to be reminded that ‘it isn’t you.’

The very last match.com date I went on was with Earl Bamberger. I remember asking what his middle name was, hoping I could call him by that instead of Earl, and he told me it was Bunston. Earl Bunston Bamberger. Wow. He had five kids and he couldn’t stop holding my hand across the table during dinner. After dinner we sat at the bar for a bit. He received a phone call. It was a goodnight call from his children. Have you seen the Geico commercial about the Walton’s saying goodnight? Goodnight John Boy, goodnight Mary Ellen, goodnight grandpa, goodnight Ben, goodnight Olivia, goodnight everybody. Yeah, it was something like that.

So even after that experience, my friend offers up one that’s worse.

She tells me this story about how she met a guy on match.com. He was a lawyer. Bonus! They talked on line a bit and he seemed good to go. They agreed to meet up in D.C. at a place close to the metro. He didn’t have a vehicle (as most people in D.C. don’t…like New York, traffic is a nightmare, and why deal with it if you can metro everywhere you’d like to go.) So that alone didn’t send off any warning flares. He told her he’d be coming straight from work, so when he showed up with his briefcase, that didn’t raise any flags either.

The place they end up going for dinner is a pretty high class joint and she is enjoying the conversation for the most part. He’s a little dry, but also good looking, and that trumps dry any day.

At the end of dinner the check arrives. All of a sudden this guy reaches for his brief case. He opens it up like he’s fucking John Travolta at the end of Pulp Fiction. Like the secret to life is in there. But instead it contains loose change. Lots of it. It’s not rolled, and it’s not even all silver. He begins to pick through it. How did she not hear that shit? A dollar in change is a fucking symphony in your pocket. And it has to be heavy. My daughter has a piggy bank containing 10.75 in quarters and I can barely lift that shit off the dresser. This guy must have had Popeye forearms. So she politely asks if he needs money and he says no, he’s got it. She is completely embarrassed. She excuses herself, hands the waitress money for her meal and leaves.

She didn’t even look back. You can’t look back. Would you look back at room full of poop? No. You know it stinks, so you just go. And there’s really no need for the look back. Because everyone else is already looking.

Currently Chasing: Round Two

So if you read my last blog, you know that I got a number from a Bob Evans waiter who looks like Justin Timberlake. So to update you all, I texted him. I said look, I know you’re younger than me, but nothing says we can’t go out, have a good time, and continue on with these bad decisions I keep making.

He agreed, which led me to believe that he must be pretty smart, even for his not yet ripe age of 24. So we agree to meet at Dave and Busters. Nice place, dimly lit, with only the light from the ski ball game to highlight my ‘experience lines.’

He arrives first and gives me a call. I let him know I’m not far behind. He approaches the bar to order a drink. They card him. He realizes he forgot his ID and he calls me to tell me he has to go home really quick. Kudos to him for actually telling me why.

So I show up and head toward the bar. No problem getting served. No ID necessary. Go figure. So I’m waiting. Looking as desperate as you can imagine. Thirty something alone at the bar in what commercials advertise as an adult playground. Good Lord. So I text him and tell him to hurry up because the dude across the bar is eye raping me. And he looks old. Like at least 27.

So while I wait I think of all of the awful dates I’ve been on. I remember the guy who asked for my underwear after our date. I recall the guy who ‘borrowed’ 85 dollars from me to take out my friend. I remember the dude who left me a crazy love song on my machine the very first time he called me. I think about the guy who cheated on me on each day that ended in Y. And I think about all the young guys I’ve dated who planned their days around the Simpsons. And I start to think that I should just bolt right out of there. Two things keep me from doing that. Number 1: The Madori Sour. I love that drink, and it had been awhile since I had one. And 2. This guy reminds me of Justin Timberlake…and I’m going to enjoy looking at him even if everything he says makes me want to vomit up my Madori.

But guess what. When he shows up, it feels like an old friend just arrived. And after we started talking we didn’t run out of things to say. And when it was time for the night to end, we were both a little disappointed. But I had to end it. Law and Order was coming on.

Currently Chasing: A To-Go Box

So the other day me and a group of friends decided to go to breakfast. We wrestled with the decision of where we should go. We narrowed it down to Bob Evans. Then we wrestled with the decision of which Bob Evans we should go to. But we decided on laurel. And by we, I mean them, because I hate making decisions. Mostly because they are always wrong.

So anyway, an older gentleman friend and I arrive first. The waiter will tell me later that we were dubbed the MILF and the old guy. Nice title for a book. Not too long after that the rest of our friends join us and we are on our way to obesity in no time.

The waiter comes to take our order and he looks like someone I know. I can’t think of whom, so I just order. Although I can’t decide of course…so he goes around the table and then back to me. I pick banana and blueberry French toast although it’s probably the wrong choice.

“You don’t want any meat with that?” he asks.

And without even thinking about how it’s going to sound I answer,

“I’ll take my meat to go, thanks.”

Now at first I don’t think much about it. But right away the others at the table start looking at me and I realize that I’ve kind of just asked this guy to wrap his dong up for me with a side of Bob Evans Gravy.

“It’s going to be a good day for me I guess,” is how he responds.

I’m a bit embarrassed, but curious nonetheless.

So not long after that it dawns on me who this guy looks like. So I ask him, has anyone ever told you that you look like…

“Justin Timberlake?” he says cutting me off.

“Yes, Justin Timberlake,” I say.

“Yeah, I get that a lot.”

So now I’m a little interested, although I know he’s young. Twenty four to be exact. And he’s a waiter at Bob Evans. So there’s that. Although I do love their mini sampler.

So by now the end of the meal is approaching and little Justin comes over to ask if there is anything else we’d like. My friend at the end of the table says, one more thing. She’d like your number. I quickly blurt out…

“If you are in a relationship, then I totally understand.”

I wanted to give him an out. I didn’t want to be embarrassed by rejection.

But instead he quickly says, he’s not. And with that, he writes his number down and hands it to me. And I know right away that’s it’s a bad decision, but probably better than the French toast.

Currently Chasing: Airport Passenger 23A

I don’t know how it is for most of the free world, but for me, I chose to leave the nest very early on. I was only 17 when I left the barn searching for greener pastures.
And I found them. Everywhere. You see, whereas most of the time the grass only seems greener, for me the grass always WAS greener.

I chose to leave because I was running from something. A life that would have led me down a path constantly traveled by. And that my friends, would have made a terrible difference.

I come from a life of no consequence. I never had to ditch school. Instead I would just tell my mom I didn’t feel like going and she’d let me stay home. My boyfriends were allowed in my room. The cops would return my brothers to the house every time I babysat. I was irresponsible and no one cared.

But a lot has changed since then. I live a life now where I’m not used to getting jerked around. When someone says they are going to do something, I pretty much feel like they are going to do it.

If someone tells me they are going to fly out here and they need me to pick them up at 9 a.m. from the airport, I pretty much figure I’ll be picking them up at 9 from the airport. What I don’t expect is that I’m going to be sitting there for 45 minutes waiting, just to find out that they never got on the flight, but just didn’t think to call and let me know. And that maybe they’ll be there by 10 p.m., or maybe tomorrow at 8:15.

Yeah, and hopefully God will be stopping by to turn your wine back into water Drunkie.

I should have known better than to think something from my past life could reside in my current life. The two feel universes apart. It’s painful to think back now and realize that my entire life was lived with that same amount of uncertainty. Never knowing if what was said is what would be done. Never really being able to make two and two add up to four. It’s a frustrating life. One that I literally floated away from almost 16 years ago.

But I’m also a sucker for a second chance. I love handing them out like Chinese chicken samples at a food court. So I’m going back to that airport even though everything in body tells me not to. And I’m going to unlock my car door and wait. If my mystery guest doesn’t arrive this time, I’m going to lock that door forever.

Currently Chasing: A Happy Ending

The other day I got a pedicure. But it wasn’t just any pedicure. It was the absolute ultimate pedicure.

I walk in and am immediately met by gorgeous color schemes and chocolate. And let’s face it, they had me at Hershey.

A woman comes up and asks me what I’d like to have done. I tell her I’d like a pedicure. She doesn’t just tell me to pick a color as she rushes back into oblivion. Instead she hands me a menu. A pedicure menu. I begin reading through my options.

I end up choosing the tropical pedicure. It’s going to cost me $45 and I was a bit skeptical at first. AT FIRST.

They escort me to another room of the salon. A semi private room. I didn’t even get a semi private room when I gave birth to my daughter!

They set the back massager and the foot bath and leave me to soak. Two minutes later a woman comes in and offers me some water. Then another woman comes in and offers me a glass of wine. Yes please. Then they ask if I’d like a snack? Cheese and crackers? Peanut butter and celery? Steak and shrimp? Are you kidding me?

Then the woman sits down and begins the process. She has an artist’s tray with all kinds of lotions and potions. It’s literally a pallet of awesomeness.

She begins rubbing stuff, clipping stuff, rubbing stuff, scrubbing stuff, buffing stuff, rubbing stuff. I’m in absolute heaven. Just me and my wine and a burning incent. No shit. She burnt and incent.

She is doing reflexology on my feet. She is making love to my toes. I’m not even kidding. It was amazing. I couldn’t even manage to send text messages or play doodle jump. That’s how good it was. I was able to put my phone down and relax. That NEVER happens. Literally the other day my daughter asked which I loved more, her or my iphone. That's how serious my phone affair is.

So anyway, at this point the lady begins to hot stone massaged my legs. Then she wrapped them in warm towels. Then she polished them to perfection and started to blow them dry. A blow job for 45 bucks...DEALIO!

BUT THEN.

She stood up and oiled up her hands and began rubbing my back! A friend of mine had the same pedicure and they actually had her remove her shirt so they could rub her back! She must have gotten the all inclusive lesbian massage. My lady was just fine rubbing me with my clothes on, and I didn’t mind. I had on a tank top and she was thrusting her hands down the backside of it. Rubbing my back as if I was actually paying for it. Then she moved on to my neck, then my face, then my head, then down my arms, then she began rubbing my hands and I just know this is what it feels like to get a boner.

My friend had informed me that when she was getting her rub she was thinking…they must have misunderstood what I asked for. She was doing the math in her head wondering how much this was all going to cost. But guess what. She didn’t give a fuck. At that point, just take the wallet. Who cares.

And that’s exactly how I felt. Take my money, take my shirt…take it, take it...you bad girl you...

After the massage she walked out of the room. Then returned with two hot towels and began giving me a towel bath. I’m not kidding people. She washed my arms, my neck, my back and face.

And when I got up to the counter ready to pay the hundreds of dollars she deserved. It was $45.

And trust me, in this economy, that is a happy ending.

Currently Chasing: Medication

So just when I thought it was safe to resurface my support for the marriage issue I get knifed in the alley!

Yesterday I got a call from a friend. Her son, who hasn’t even been married a year, walked in on his wife with another man.

It was her son’s first real girlfriend and he was in that hard core first kind of love. Guess what’s going to happen now? He’s going to turn into an asshole in overdrive. In fact, if he needs advice on how to be one, I’ve got a few people I can refer him to.

Another friend of mine shared her story with me the other day as well.

She was desperately in love with a married man. He was desperately in love with her. But she had to call it off for obvious reasons. So she started up a mostly physical relationship with someone else to take her mind off of the married man of her dreams.

Years later he contacts her. He’s now separated and still desperate to be with her. She visits. All the feelings come rushing back and she is sucked into this love vortex once again. She flies back home in a love bubble. A few hours later he calls to tell her he’s with someone else. Turns out he was just really bitter about her physically moving on. It’s like I said, they don’t care about the ones you fall in love with. Just the ones you hold on to purely orgasmic reasons.

And one more for good measure. A good friend of mine decided to give her ex boyfriend another chance. They broke up for a variety of reasons, but one being that he wasn’t bonding with her children. She has two. But he has two as well. Things were fine and dandy when it came to his two, but he just couldn’t seem to get on board with hers. Time goes by, he’s in love. He realizes he made a mistake, he wants her back and he’s willing to do anything.

So they get back together. A month into the relationship she invites him to a movie with her and her sons. He asks why she’s inviting him. She says, well, you are my boyfriend and I figured I’d extend the invite. He responds by telling her to stop trying to shove her boys down his throat and that he’ll do what he wants when he wants and he won’t be ordered around. She tells him she’s a packaged deal and he hangs up on her. Only to post I love you on her facebook page the next day. Nothing like a dose of conditional love in the morning.

The world is Bi-polor and ADD. I HATE YOU. I love you. OH LOOK, something shiny. Just be careful. Cause It’s a knife baby, A KNIFE.

Currently Chasing: The Magic Meatball of Marriage

My daughter got a magic meatball the other day. It is kind of like a magic 8 Ball except that it is a meatball. She’s been asking it questions ever since.

Is my mom beautiful?

The Meatball says yes.

Is my mom mean?

The Meatball says ask again later.

Is my mom mean?

The Meatball says Maybe, but only when you deserve for her to be. Or something like that.

Anyway, last night I picked it up just on a whim and asked it if I would get married again.

The Meatball says Maybe.

I got excited. I mean, if the meatball says it, it must be true. But why was I excited? I’ve been giving marriage such a bad rap lately. Why would I want to be on the other end of it?

I’ll tell you why. A friend of mine (and she knows who she is) has really been driving the point home to me lately that she is happily married. I’ve been trying to just ignore her and continue nay saying the unions…but every time I turn around, there she is holding hands and laughing with her husband. She even totally disproves my theory on distance. Her and her husband live and work together, and they have for years. They have kids, bills and responsibilities…but they also have one other thing that makes all the difference. Respect for each other.

Up till this point all I could concentrate on were the negative things. The cheating that keeps plastering the televisions channels. The couples in my life that break up and get back together like they’re a bad 80s hair band. The men I date who seem to only be on this earth to waste my time and their lives.

But there is more out there. There are men who compliment their wives and continue after years of marriage to refer to them as their bride. There are men I know who refer to their girlfriends as wifey even though they aren’t married. There is a man I know who keeps a couples calendar at his desk. Every month is a different picture of him and his fiancé. I even know one guy who is skinny as shit, but on a diet because he wants to support his wife, who started the diet to lose weight. This love thing ain’t all bad.

And you know what little meatball? I want it. Can I have it?

The Meatball says ask again later.

And I did.

Why? Because I want someone to hold my hand and take me to a movie. Because I want someone through sickness and health. Because I want someone for richer or poorer. For all those reasons, I asked again later.

Will I get married?

The Meatball says no.

Oh what the fuck do you know…you’re a damn Meatball for Christ’s sake!

Currently Chasing: Consequences

A friend of mine procrastinates. He does so every day in every aspect of his life. Even when it comes to relationships, he waits till the last minute to make a decision. His homework for his online courses is due Sunday at midnight, so he finishes it up around 11 (if they want it any earlier than they should move the deadline up, according to him.) He sees no purpose whatsoever in doing anything any earlier than it absolutely needs to be done.

However, I don’t blame him for his lack of motivation. I blame instead, the lack of consequence. The world, which used to be full of consequence, has now become too politically correct to call out anyone on their bullshit. And this isn’t just the case when it comes to procrastination. This is the case when it comes to anything.

The other day I asked my daughter to clean her room. She kicked some stuff around for a couple of minutes, turned on her TV and that was that. An hour later I walk into her portal for dirt and evil and I say again, clean your room. She pushes some stuff under her bed and around her dresser and again gets caught up in the TV. Here’s the problem, as a single mom, if I punish her by grounding her or making her stay in the house, then I also punish myself. Then I’m stuck in the house. Then I can’t go anywhere. So even when there are consequences, they are usually pushed aside with the words, I’m sorry, or I’ll clean it tomorrow. I’m definitely part of the problem here.

If the consequence for her not cleaning her room was a smack across her face, and no 3D viewing of Alic in Wonderland, well guess what? That room would be clean. If my friend’s punishment for not getting his homework done in a timely manner was points taken off his assignment, well he’d manage his time better.

If every cheater, liar and murderer on trial actually got sent to a prison without all the perks of a Holiday Inn, they may not be so quick to cheat, lie and murder. If the consequence isn’t severe these days, then the chance of real action being taken for anything positive is slim to none.

If the consequence for men treating me like shit is me continuing to let men treat me like shit, then men will continue to treat me like shit. Simple formula. And simple solution.

If the consequence for men treating me like shit is me telling them to fuck right off and then summarily moving on with my life, well, they’d think twice the next time they had shit to peddle.

And if my friend wants to wait till the very last possible minute to make me a part of his life, and the consequence is simply me continuing to wait, well I guarantee he’ll wait till midnight on Sunday, and by then the carriage is already a pumpkin.

And you can bet he’s not going to find the time to return that glass slipper.

Currently Chasing: Distance

My aunt’s favorite quote is: “I’m an excellent house keeper. Every time I get divorced, I keep the house.”

Which explains my uncles favorite quote: “Ah yes, divorce, from the Latin word meaning, to rip out a man’s genitals through his wallet."

My aunt and uncle have been married for as long as I can remember. And they’ve hated each other for a slightly shorter amount of time than that. Thanksgiving is lovely of course. Get the wine flowing and soon you’ve got ‘the conversation’ flying back and forth between the two love birds.

“You know he’s cheating on me right?”

“Have another drink my bride.”

“Oh don’t have another drink me, you Michael Bolton wannabee. Let the hair go already.”

And so it goes. Love at it’s all time most glorious.

Which leaves me wondering, why exactly am I so intent on getting married? I mean, I know tons of married folk. And none are topping my list of happiest couples. In fact, the happiest couples I know at this point are the ones that are separated by circumstances well within their control. They just choose to be apart most of the time -- maybe not geographically in different places -- but still apart. Work keeps them apart, then after work activities keep them apart, then different television schedules keep them apart. But trust me, most of them are going on 10 years or more and they are ‘happy.’

People tend to love best when they are miles away.

I know couples who have been married thirty years, and then the minute they decide to retire and enjoy their money, the first thing they end up doing with it is splitting it in a divorce. Once they are forced to deal with each other, all bets are off.

So that’s the key. Be yourself … just don’t spend enough time around your significant other to let them figure out who you really are. And if you catch wind that they are starting to suspect, TIVo some Law and Order and put some distance between the two of you.

After all, marriage is grand. But divorce is 50 grand.