I have a beautiful friend named Daisy*. While Daisy has the loveliest blonde hair, blue eyes and peaches and cream complexion, she does acknowledge the limitations of her complexion.
If we’re outside, she’s found the tiniest sliver of shade and is huddled under it in a contorted position that ensures maximum shady coverage of her body. She’ll say she can think about the sunshine and get sunburned. I’ve been to the pool with her before, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t until after 5:00pm. She’d call her coloring “translucent.” I’ve known her to even dye her eyebrows because otherwise they’re seemingly nonexistent. (Sorry, Daisy! I couldn’t resist putting that in—you know, really paint the picture!) It all works very well together, though, and Daisy really is dazzling.
Always the strategic-minded planner, Daisy approached dating with a purpose. She knew one day she’d want kids, and she didn’t want her progeny and light of her life to be so, well, light. If children are built in the image of their parents, Daisy needed to hedge her kids’ bets. So, she set out to date dark. Give the kids a fighting chance!
In all my time of knowing Daisy, and it’s been a long time, she’s had relationships and casual dates, and none of them were Caucasian. She dated an Indian guy for a while, but even his delectably dark skin couldn’t make up for his simple mind and inability to pronounce V’s. (One time while they dated, he took a vacation to “Las Wegas.”) One Moroccan guy lasted quite a while, and Daisy reveled in his café au lait complexion. Unfortunately, some of his other characteristics ended up being catastrophic deal breakers, be damned their attractive baby potential!
As life has a way of working itself out, Daisy found the love of her life, perfect-for-her man. Wouldn’t you know, he’s a good looking guy with dark hair and creamy, ivory skin! And, she’s never been happier, and I’ve never been happier for her.
When Daisy got pregnant, we all held our breath for nine long months. Their daughter is precious! But, while she does have beautiful, dark hair, I fear there’s little hope in that little one ever tanning!
It just goes to show you, as so many things do, you can spend your whole life planning, but the heart wants what the heart wants, and there’s no way around that! Inevitably, one often ends up marrying someone unlike anyone she’s ever dated before. Therefore, I’ve started keeping my own eye out for cute guys with arms full of tattoos! I’ll let you know how that works out.
*Name changed to protect the innocent, and guilty.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Come on Irene
In case you live under a rock or on the West Coast, the entire East Coast was “hit” by a hurricane this weekend. Also in the not-a-surprise category, I am a bit of an alarmist (ok, and probably this one, too). The last time a hurricane-type storm hit the DC area was quite a scene, so this year I was going to be prepared!
Last time, during Isabelle, at a ripe old age 23, my friends/colleagues and I made vigorous preparations: we stocked up on booze, went over to some friends’ house and partied our way through the storm. When our boss called to tell us the office would be closed the next day, she called one of our cell phones. In ending the call, she said, “Ok, I have to go call Kristin now.” The friend said, “Oh, no bother! Here she is!” and handed the phone to me. After we had talked, she said, “Ok, off to call Jessica.” “Oh, here you go! She’s right next to me.” Next: “Calling Lindsay next.” “No need, here she is,” and on it went until one phone call connected with all 8 of us. I think we were busted.
Now, that last storm had been categorized as a lesser danger than this weekend’s Irene, in my recollection. Still, it knocked power out at my apartment for a full WEEK! During that time, there was an epic, flashlight-illuminated Monopoly game that lasted so long there were two Monopoly casualties (I think they may have PTSD and have never played the game again) and new money had to be minted. So, this year, I knew what to expect and was ready. Bring it on, Irene.
I hit the grocery store before the storm was expected to land and bought things under the guideline that if it’s not in the store’s refrigerator section, it probably will last outside of mine if needed. And wine. I bought plenty of wine. Then, I went into preparation mode:
Last time, during Isabelle, at a ripe old age 23, my friends/colleagues and I made vigorous preparations: we stocked up on booze, went over to some friends’ house and partied our way through the storm. When our boss called to tell us the office would be closed the next day, she called one of our cell phones. In ending the call, she said, “Ok, I have to go call Kristin now.” The friend said, “Oh, no bother! Here she is!” and handed the phone to me. After we had talked, she said, “Ok, off to call Jessica.” “Oh, here you go! She’s right next to me.” Next: “Calling Lindsay next.” “No need, here she is,” and on it went until one phone call connected with all 8 of us. I think we were busted.
Now, that last storm had been categorized as a lesser danger than this weekend’s Irene, in my recollection. Still, it knocked power out at my apartment for a full WEEK! During that time, there was an epic, flashlight-illuminated Monopoly game that lasted so long there were two Monopoly casualties (I think they may have PTSD and have never played the game again) and new money had to be minted. So, this year, I knew what to expect and was ready. Bring it on, Irene.
I hit the grocery store before the storm was expected to land and bought things under the guideline that if it’s not in the store’s refrigerator section, it probably will last outside of mine if needed. And wine. I bought plenty of wine. Then, I went into preparation mode:
- Found all the flashlights I have. All are about 2 inches long and were received in Christmas stockings over the years from my dad. I think one also operates as a flare for emergencies. That could come in really handy.
- Laid out entertainment so I wouldn’t have to go searching through dark drawers when I needed them: playing cards, books, nail polish, the basket I need to paint, paper and pens to draft blog posts the old fashioned way…
- Prepared a cooler, complete with a bag of ice for drinks.
- Made a bunch of sandwiches for the cooler. One couldn’t be too sure about how long eating out of the cooler would be necessary. Backed up the sandwiches with bread, peanut butter, granola bars, fruit, veggies… It was a veritable feast, ready for feeding myself for days!
- Watched NBC all day long, where the anchors were on the air so long they were getting punch drunk and hysterical.
- Turned the air conditioner up full blast so that when the power went out it would take longer to get hot in the apartment. I. Am. Such. A. Genius!!
- Put on a sweatshirt. And sweatpants. And a blanket…
I was ready for an apocalypse in which I wouldn’t be able to leave the house for who knew how long!
Then I got bored. And cold.
I went over to some friends’ house, who made me dinner, and we drank beer and played card games all night long waiting for things to fly past the window and trees to crash into the house that never came. Eventually, they drove me home when we were worn out from monitoring the weather—it really takes it out of a girl! I don’t know how Al Roker does it.
Wouldn’t you know the power didn’t go out except for maybe a few hours in the wee hours of the morning while I was asleep? But, boy was it cold when I got back home. I had to sleep in flannel pajamas, fuzzy socks, a hat and scarf. In August.
In conclusion, the storm was a bit disappointing after all the hype. I’m glad everyone’s safe and that I’ve got full power. But now, I’ll be eating sandwiches for months. Come over if you get hungry!
Thursday, August 25, 2011
How did Prince Charming Communicate?
Don’t guys understand that girls just want to be made to feel special? Don’t they watch romantic comedies?! Oh, wait… So, they don’t? Well, that explains the missing magic!
I’d like to submit into evidence some of my recently received texts for your consideration. Please, if you feel beloved or otherwise special in reading any of them and I’m missing something, let me know!
A Thursday, late afternoon:
I’ll be in the neighborhood with the usual suspects tonight. Catch up with us if ur out. :-)
This was from a guy recently met. I don’t know who the “usual suspects” are. I’m also not convinced I was the only person to have received this message. Oh! Oh! So, you’ll be in my neighborhood with people I don’t know?! I’ll rush right out!
I’m also pretty sure “catch up with us if ur out” is not akin to “I really enjoyed meeting you and want to get to know you better. Let’s get together so I can treasure your company and devote my full attention to you and whether we might enjoy each other.”
A Wednesday, about 6:00 before a date:
Hope you remembered to wear your drinking pants!!
Why?! Are we going to play quarters on this date? At your fraternity house?
A Saturday night, approximately 1:30/2:00am from an ex-boyfriend:
I’m sorry I was such a d-bag. You’re a great woman.
Oh yeah, I know I am. If you had realized that much earlier on, you could have saved us both a lot of trouble and probably wouldn’t have behaved so disrespectfully. Still, this doesn’t feel like a proclamation of regret or redemption in the early morning hours after, I’m sure, many manhattans.
Another Saturday night a few weeks later, about 1:15am from the same ex-boyfriend:
KBizzle!!!!!!!!
Translation: “Are you out? Can I come over? I miss getting regular action, and since I’m not getting any anywhere else, I’m going try and weasel my way back in here.”
Really? Remember when you said you could picture your life without me in it? This is what that looks like. Not what you imagined??
Wednesday, about 12:15pm (not from ex-boyfriend):
Hey friend. What’d you think of the earthquake? Pretty wild, huh? Don’t be a stranger if you’re out in the hood. We are always out having a good time…
I’ve met you once. We actually are essentially strangers. If you really want us to not be strangers, there is a way to accomplish that: make plans! With all the effort you’re putting into casually running into me sometime, you could just arrange a low-intensity, couple drinks date, you know.
----------
So, sorry, boys. I’m 31 now. I’ve learned the lessons of my early twenties and don’t need to go back. Late-night “reconciliations” and happenstance run-ins do not loving relationships make—typically. I’m smarter than that and worth much more. Why don’t you try to communicate with me as if you were more mature than a 22 year-old yourself?
What happened to the good, old days of phone calls to request nice dates, complete with a suggestion for time/place/activity? I’m starting to think they’ve gone the way of beautifully scripted letters and wax seals. At least I don’t have to wear bloomers under my dresses in this day and age! But really, which is worse? I’m not entirely sure.
I’d like to submit into evidence some of my recently received texts for your consideration. Please, if you feel beloved or otherwise special in reading any of them and I’m missing something, let me know!
A Thursday, late afternoon:
I’ll be in the neighborhood with the usual suspects tonight. Catch up with us if ur out. :-)
This was from a guy recently met. I don’t know who the “usual suspects” are. I’m also not convinced I was the only person to have received this message. Oh! Oh! So, you’ll be in my neighborhood with people I don’t know?! I’ll rush right out!
I’m also pretty sure “catch up with us if ur out” is not akin to “I really enjoyed meeting you and want to get to know you better. Let’s get together so I can treasure your company and devote my full attention to you and whether we might enjoy each other.”
A Wednesday, about 6:00 before a date:
Hope you remembered to wear your drinking pants!!
Why?! Are we going to play quarters on this date? At your fraternity house?
A Saturday night, approximately 1:30/2:00am from an ex-boyfriend:
I’m sorry I was such a d-bag. You’re a great woman.
Oh yeah, I know I am. If you had realized that much earlier on, you could have saved us both a lot of trouble and probably wouldn’t have behaved so disrespectfully. Still, this doesn’t feel like a proclamation of regret or redemption in the early morning hours after, I’m sure, many manhattans.
Another Saturday night a few weeks later, about 1:15am from the same ex-boyfriend:
KBizzle!!!!!!!!
Translation: “Are you out? Can I come over? I miss getting regular action, and since I’m not getting any anywhere else, I’m going try and weasel my way back in here.”
Really? Remember when you said you could picture your life without me in it? This is what that looks like. Not what you imagined??
Wednesday, about 12:15pm (not from ex-boyfriend):
Hey friend. What’d you think of the earthquake? Pretty wild, huh? Don’t be a stranger if you’re out in the hood. We are always out having a good time…
I’ve met you once. We actually are essentially strangers. If you really want us to not be strangers, there is a way to accomplish that: make plans! With all the effort you’re putting into casually running into me sometime, you could just arrange a low-intensity, couple drinks date, you know.
----------
So, sorry, boys. I’m 31 now. I’ve learned the lessons of my early twenties and don’t need to go back. Late-night “reconciliations” and happenstance run-ins do not loving relationships make—typically. I’m smarter than that and worth much more. Why don’t you try to communicate with me as if you were more mature than a 22 year-old yourself?
What happened to the good, old days of phone calls to request nice dates, complete with a suggestion for time/place/activity? I’m starting to think they’ve gone the way of beautifully scripted letters and wax seals. At least I don’t have to wear bloomers under my dresses in this day and age! But really, which is worse? I’m not entirely sure.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Babies. Yikes!
I was fortunate enough to spend the weekend with one of my best friends from college, her husband and their precious little 14-or-so month old (from what I understand, that’s how people count kids’ ages, by month, until they’re—I don’t know—teenagers?). I love my time with one of my favorite, little families and seeing the remarkable growth the little one makes between each trip. I spent this weekend largely monopolized by trying to teach her to say my name, “Biz!!” with jazz hands! Classic KB. And utterly unsuccessful.
I’ve said since I was 5 years old (or 60 months) that I wasn’t going to have any kids. In fact, my sister and I have told my mom on many occasions that it’s a good thing she’s a labor and delivery nurse because that’s her best shot at spending quality time with babies. However, with many of my friends popping out little bundles of love, I’ve gotten in some quality baby time, and it doesn’t seem so scary. Maybe I could even do it! Well, wait. Let me rephrase that. It didn’t seem so scary.
All weekend, my friends' kid was the essence of adorable. Really, she is among the cutest kids I’ve ever met. She just learned how to say “thank you” (and she can’t pop out a “Biz”!?), so any time she gave any of us anything—her toys, hugs, precious kisses, her lunch, our cell phones that had previously been hidden—she would say, “thank you!” in the cutest little voice I’ve ever heard. (She also did it more appropriately when we’d give her things, but that wasn’t as funny.) We went to get ice cream, she chased around a poodle in such a state of toddler glee, and I almost melted!
And then it all came crashing down. While we were finishing up a gorgeously scenic cliff walk in Newport, RI, and waiting for Dad to go get the car, the tot went into full-on meltdown mode. I’ve never seen anything like it! It was behavior like I had previously thought one sees only on TV or in movies. My friend, and the kid’s mom, also said she had never seen anything like it, but I have a strong feeling parents outright lie to the childless. It can be the only explanation for humanity’s continued procreation.
The previously baby-food-commercial-worthy adorable toddler was thrashing around on the ground emitting screams that could have justified an exorcism. We’d try and pick her up, and she’d plant her feet on our bodies and push her entire weight against our arms trying to free herself from such unjustified repression. Dad finally showed up with the car, and the screaming continued. On our way out of town, the ear-splitting screaming continued. I helpfully pointed out buildings I thought might be orphanages or at least day cares, but there were no takers. Almost, but not quite.
Half an hour into the hour-long ride, she abruptly stopped crying and started singing and joyfully cooing. What?!?! Excuse me?! That’s it? It just stops?? No explanation, no apology, just suddenly a complete transformation?! I couldn’t help it, but I found myself angry that her crazy, unexplained outburst could so easily be forgotten in that little mind!
She did go on to win me back. How could anyone be anything but completely in love with that tiny strawberry-blonde head and kissable cheeks?! I mean, don’t worry, I’m pretty sure I’m back firmly in the “this womb will bear no fruit” camp. Being a mom is a LOT of work! Sure, it seems rewarding, but I just don’t think I’m cut out for it. Of course, one “Biz” and a jazz hand or two, and I could, maybe, be back on the fence!
I’ve said since I was 5 years old (or 60 months) that I wasn’t going to have any kids. In fact, my sister and I have told my mom on many occasions that it’s a good thing she’s a labor and delivery nurse because that’s her best shot at spending quality time with babies. However, with many of my friends popping out little bundles of love, I’ve gotten in some quality baby time, and it doesn’t seem so scary. Maybe I could even do it! Well, wait. Let me rephrase that. It didn’t seem so scary.
All weekend, my friends' kid was the essence of adorable. Really, she is among the cutest kids I’ve ever met. She just learned how to say “thank you” (and she can’t pop out a “Biz”!?), so any time she gave any of us anything—her toys, hugs, precious kisses, her lunch, our cell phones that had previously been hidden—she would say, “thank you!” in the cutest little voice I’ve ever heard. (She also did it more appropriately when we’d give her things, but that wasn’t as funny.) We went to get ice cream, she chased around a poodle in such a state of toddler glee, and I almost melted!
And then it all came crashing down. While we were finishing up a gorgeously scenic cliff walk in Newport, RI, and waiting for Dad to go get the car, the tot went into full-on meltdown mode. I’ve never seen anything like it! It was behavior like I had previously thought one sees only on TV or in movies. My friend, and the kid’s mom, also said she had never seen anything like it, but I have a strong feeling parents outright lie to the childless. It can be the only explanation for humanity’s continued procreation.
The previously baby-food-commercial-worthy adorable toddler was thrashing around on the ground emitting screams that could have justified an exorcism. We’d try and pick her up, and she’d plant her feet on our bodies and push her entire weight against our arms trying to free herself from such unjustified repression. Dad finally showed up with the car, and the screaming continued. On our way out of town, the ear-splitting screaming continued. I helpfully pointed out buildings I thought might be orphanages or at least day cares, but there were no takers. Almost, but not quite.
Half an hour into the hour-long ride, she abruptly stopped crying and started singing and joyfully cooing. What?!?! Excuse me?! That’s it? It just stops?? No explanation, no apology, just suddenly a complete transformation?! I couldn’t help it, but I found myself angry that her crazy, unexplained outburst could so easily be forgotten in that little mind!
She did go on to win me back. How could anyone be anything but completely in love with that tiny strawberry-blonde head and kissable cheeks?! I mean, don’t worry, I’m pretty sure I’m back firmly in the “this womb will bear no fruit” camp. Being a mom is a LOT of work! Sure, it seems rewarding, but I just don’t think I’m cut out for it. Of course, one “Biz” and a jazz hand or two, and I could, maybe, be back on the fence!
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Oh, c’mon. There are still gentlemen! Somewhere?
I can't believe my friends convinced me to post this story. If you want to know what it's like to be a single girl looking for her prince charming, this is a pretty classic anecdote, I suppose, in all it's vulgarity...
I had a date a week or so ago with a guy who was confused and had trouble distinguishing me from one of his crude, back-slapping drinking buddies and the tequileria we were in from a hole-in-the-wall, light-beer-slinging, peanuts-on-the-floor crap shack. It’s the only excuse for his language in the presence of such an elegant lady!
In our various pre-date correspondences, I had alluded to the accumulation of entertaining bad date stories I’d been collecting. So, he tried to compete. This blog is a small taste of the ammunition I’m packing when it comes to bad date comparisons, so you, my loyal readers, know that one needs to come big if he’s going to try to one-up me on dating stories. He had one story in particular that could have made it, but presentation is everything. And in that, he failed big time.
On a second date with a girl he met online, this guy was taking her hiking. I admired his effort to make it an interesting date. On the drive over to the trail, his date said to him, “I like you and could see this going somewhere maybe, so I should tell you something.” That seems presumptuous on a second date, but maybe I could learn something from being a little more forthcoming on a date. Or maybe not…
She continued with, “I just got out of a relationship.” My date then said that he had said to her, “That’s cool, so did I.” That wasn’t the end, though. She had apparently just gotten out of a long-term relationship with a woman.
Now, I saw that ending to the story coming a mile before we got there, but this guy wasn’t finished with the seemingly obvious proclamations. In case I wasn’t sure by virtue of his asking me out, he went on to say, and I repeat this verbatim, “I mean, I’m cool with whatever people may be into, gay, lesbian, straight, whatever. But, I like P**SY!!”
Are you freaking kidding me?! Where do I find these people? Thanks, “sir.” That was completely unnecessary and, oh yeah, even irrelevant to the story! So, there you go, buddy. You and your date had something in common. Please don’t ever call me again.
There have to be some genuinely nice, appropriate, good guys out there somewhere, right? Right?
I had a date a week or so ago with a guy who was confused and had trouble distinguishing me from one of his crude, back-slapping drinking buddies and the tequileria we were in from a hole-in-the-wall, light-beer-slinging, peanuts-on-the-floor crap shack. It’s the only excuse for his language in the presence of such an elegant lady!
In our various pre-date correspondences, I had alluded to the accumulation of entertaining bad date stories I’d been collecting. So, he tried to compete. This blog is a small taste of the ammunition I’m packing when it comes to bad date comparisons, so you, my loyal readers, know that one needs to come big if he’s going to try to one-up me on dating stories. He had one story in particular that could have made it, but presentation is everything. And in that, he failed big time.
On a second date with a girl he met online, this guy was taking her hiking. I admired his effort to make it an interesting date. On the drive over to the trail, his date said to him, “I like you and could see this going somewhere maybe, so I should tell you something.” That seems presumptuous on a second date, but maybe I could learn something from being a little more forthcoming on a date. Or maybe not…
She continued with, “I just got out of a relationship.” My date then said that he had said to her, “That’s cool, so did I.” That wasn’t the end, though. She had apparently just gotten out of a long-term relationship with a woman.
Now, I saw that ending to the story coming a mile before we got there, but this guy wasn’t finished with the seemingly obvious proclamations. In case I wasn’t sure by virtue of his asking me out, he went on to say, and I repeat this verbatim, “I mean, I’m cool with whatever people may be into, gay, lesbian, straight, whatever. But, I like P**SY!!”
Are you freaking kidding me?! Where do I find these people? Thanks, “sir.” That was completely unnecessary and, oh yeah, even irrelevant to the story! So, there you go, buddy. You and your date had something in common. Please don’t ever call me again.
There have to be some genuinely nice, appropriate, good guys out there somewhere, right? Right?
Thursday, August 18, 2011
I'm baaaaaack!
Have you missed me?
I’ve been out, going on dates, dating someone who epitomizes the word “jerk” (and so many other words that would not be ladylike to type), watching all my friends settle down and all the while accumulating stories. I’m back, though! I’d like to tell you that I’m picking the blog back up because I’ve got a burning desire to regale you with my stories or because I feel I’ve let you down with this gap in mindlessly entertaining life drama. However, I have to share that I’m taking to the web again for a no less worthy cause than to fulfill my destiny!
In addition to being prone towards the dramatic, I’m very lucky to have especially wise friends—when their wisdom is in my best interest or I agree with them. Otherwise, of course, they’re just regular friends. Wait, considering the only real readers of my blog are my friends, maybe I should suck up a little more; after all, I can’t risk alienating my base, as they say in politics! Let’s try this again.
I’ve got gorgeous, intelligent, skinny, magical friends who are full of the most profound wisdom, and I’m more than lucky to have them in my life.
The most recent piece of astuteness to come from my great gaggle of girlfriends was a little insight into my life’s purpose—see? They are wise to have ascertained my life’s purpose! The universe, apparently, has big plans for me. As my friend said, (and who am I to argue with flattery?! A lady, especially one more than slightly self-absorbed, never turns down a compliment!) I have been blessed with a gift for writing. (Her words, so don’t take it up with me if you disagree—oh, and if that’s the case, you’re welcome to STOP READING! Jerk.) So, God/the universe/whoever maps out people’s fate has delivered to me a string of bad or otherwise humorous dates so that I may extricate the good stories from the pain and amuse people with them! According to my friend, I will not find the love of my life until I’ve written a book or gone viral online with my “special gift.”
Never one to tempt fate, I am rising to my destiny and will recommit myself to keeping the steady stream of stories coming—and boy do I have content to share! Get ready.
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