The anticipation must be killing you! An update.

The date with the 24 year-old wasn’t so bad! He turned out to be smarter and more mature than many of the 30-somethings I’ve gone out with! The biggest 24-years-wise attribute he had was his assumption that we’d just jump right into bed. Oh, boys… Don’t worry; I set the kid straight with all the grace of a lady.

Major red flag (and isn’t there always something?): the young man doesn’t own a TV!!! I’ve been out with a different guy before who also didn’t own a TV but, instead, had a telescope. In an apartment building, on a crowded street, in downtown DC. That guy seemed a touch creepy. At least the 24 year-old wasn’t that unnerving!

Considering I count TiVo as my most prized possession, just ahead of the jewelry my dad has given me for milestone birthdays and my popcorn maker, I can’t imagine what he does at night in his tiny, tiny, studio apartment without TV. I can tell you he’s not exercising in there. He’d put a hand through the window with one jumping jack! What does he do during drinking-wine-on-the-couch time without TV?!

So, obviously, I’m not sure there’s a lot of synergy there. I will, however, entertain another date, should he ask. Hell, I’m not doing a whole lot else (except catching the new seasons of so many great TV shows)!

Not quite a cougar

I have a date tomorrow. With a 24 year old. Yes, I know that puts me ALMOST at cougar status. Shut up! It is still far from being a cougar!

I realized in meeting him that there are some almost-significant differences between 24 and 31. (Seriously, isn't 7 years difference still grounds for "kitten," or at the very most, "puma"?) For instance, some big differences are

• I found myself making out with him outside of a bar in the middle of a very busy stretch of sidewalk. At 31, not a completely shining moment. At 24, maybe I'd tell all my friends. (I mean, please. I still did tell all my friends. Come on, I was making out, in public, with a really, really cute guy still in his physical prime! Shouldn’t everyone know?!)
• When he asked me out, he suggested a college bar at which I might need to put something down on the bar stool before I sat. I gently persuaded him to go to a place that was a little more interesting--and well, hygienic, maybe a bit more grown up. 
• In getting ready for the date, at 24, I'd fall out of bed after a nap, slap on some lip gloss and mascara and be ready to roll! At 31, I'm searching frantically for my favorite wrinkle filler cream, and there's a tiny gray hair sticking up on the top of my head I can't quite grab, taunting me. Either way, you can count on the fact that I’ve got a glass of wine in hand!
• If the date goes well, we might want to extend the evening. If we go back to his 24 year-old's place, it might mean cheap beer out of his roommates' kegerator, sitting around a sticky beer pong table. At my house, we'd drink nice wine over a pile of financial statements on my lovely, clean coffee table. Oh, who are we kidding? I don't have "investments," well, beyond the 4 different 401(k)s I still haven't gotten around to rolling into one at my current job.
• At 24 to prepare for the potential “night cap” at my place, I might shove all the clothes from the floor into the closet and shut the door. At 31, I contemplate taking down from my refrigerator the numerous birth announcements and 1st birthday party invitations with smiley, happy babies staring off of them. Potentially intimidating for a young man?

So, I’m going to go out with this young buck, spend most of the evening having a smashing good time and a tiny bit of the evening wondering how old I’m actually going to allude to being. Maybe I have a slight age complex?

I’ll keep you posted!

Another Hollywood Life Lesson

Ok. Let's get a reality check here.

If we have learned anything from TV and movies—and let's face it, we have learned a lot—in order to find real love I need to encounter some seemingly tragic-in-the-moment turn of fate that sends me reluctantly into a tiny, tiny town in the deep south or in Alaska. That's it. That's what it's going to take.

If I'm going to be serious about finding love, I need to get out from behind the computer, put my wine glass down on the bar and stop following cute stranger to see where it is guys like them are hanging out in the evenings. (That only happened once. How many times have I considered it, though? I reserve the right not to answer…) There are far fewer movies and TV shows about people who met online or in a bar than there are about people from big cities moving to tiny towns, being taken out of their elements, getting “rescued” by hot townies and realizing that, while seemingly miserable at first, the move was the best thing that ever happened to them.

So yeah, reality check: that’s what I need to do.

It happened for Sandra Bullock in Hope Floats, Anne Heche in the TV show Men in Trees, Nicole Kidman in Australia, Renee Zellweger in New in Town and for countless actresses in too-many-to-name teen movies. Hell, it even worked for Michael J. Fox in Doc Hollywood, Kevin Bacon in Footloose and Richard Gere in Runaway Bride!

So, obviously I’m looking forward to the new CW show Hart of Dixie, in which Rachel Bilson is forced to move to a small, southern town in which alligators cross streets (that’s in the previews for the show). You’ll find me every week during the season watching the show and taking furious notes!

Let’s talk about it, though. How is it that there’s one hot guy in town, and he inevitably falls for the out-of-place, seemingly obnoxious, new girl? Doesn’t that piss off the other girls in town? Wouldn’t that make them hate her? So, she gets the guy, but what about friends?! These movies seem to leave a lot of important stuff out…

I suppose the question in this Hollywood life lesson is, “Do I want friends or do I want love?” I have to say, if the objet d’ amour is someone like Harry Connick, Jr., James Tupper or Hugh Jackman, it might not be a fair choice!

Wait, WHO do I look like?!

You can find anything on the internet. For instance, have you ever wondered what celebrity you most resemble? There’s a website for that, probably a few. Warning: the results could be startling.

A little while ago, when I was younger—fewer wrinkles, less affected by gravity, as yet oblivious to the shock of finding a gray hair, so, you know, probably like a year or so ago (how dramatic is the change from 29 to 30 and then to 31?!?! SHEESH!)—I put my picture into one of those websites. Now, of course I had some expectations for what I’d get back. Obviously, I look a lot like Eva Longoria.

When one embarks on such an endeavor as associating her appearance with a celebrity, one aims high. I was hoping for, perhaps, a Kate Beckinsdale, Demi Moore post-surgery, maybe Megan Fox. No? You don’t think I could look like Megan Fox?

People have told me before that I looked like Mini Driver. That seems like a compliment when you picture her in some of her more recent stuff or during her Will & Grace period, even in Good Will Hunting. I’m pretty sure, though, that they were referring to her slightly-less-svelte, Circle of Friends days. I know. I have dark hair, freckles and chipmunk cheeks, but that just seems less than flattering!

This website I’ve purposely blocked from any ability to remember did not pick any of those lovely ladies as my luminary counterpart. Not even Mini Driver at any point in her history. Apparently, I look like none other than Hilary Clinton.

Hilary Clinton! Hilary! Clinton!! Regardless of your political feelings about her, there are several qualities a young woman can admire in Hilary Clinton: her strength, her power, her political acumen, her success… Her looks, and the only relevant characteristic here, are not among her attributes I aspire to! Who sits around and says, “Mmm… That Hilary Clinton is HOT,” or “Hilary is my beauty icon!”

So, naturally, I went out, bought a TON of make-up and other beauty products, amped up my beauty routine and got to work transforming myself. I’m pretty sure I’m almost there. Kate Beckinsdale, here I come!

It’s college football season!!!

Wait, whose blog is this??

Yeah, I’m not what one might call a “football fan.” I am a fan of fun, eligible guys, though, and as it turns out they are fans of college football! I smell a dating scheme coming on!

I decided I would find a college football team to support, get an adorable shirt for the team, go to bars on game days and flirt with the sports fans! This worked on many levels—provided I studied up on the team:

1. I could flirt knowledgeably with alumni or fans of “my team” during the game; they’d be impressed with my fandom and ask me out.
2. I could teasingly flirt with guys supporting the opposing team by trash talking—in a coy, yet knowledgeable way—they’d be impressed and ask me out.
3. I could flirt with boys at bars outside of game days, asking where they were planning on watching “the game;” then, of course, they’d be so charmed they’d ask me out.
4. I could spout off football facts in general conversation with boys in bars; they’d be impressed, ask me which “my team” was, we’d spar if there was a rivalry, and then they’d ask me out.

This seemed like a perfect plan. And! My guy friends were entirely on board with the plan! Now, they’ve laughed off many a scheme I’ve concocted, so their support meant this was a real gem and was going to work! Or, they just wanted someone to go to sports bars and watch games with them…

The first order of business was selecting a team for my undying loyalty. Since boys were involved, or perhaps because these boys were involved, a spreadsheet had to be created. With two separate tabs. Quite a bit of analysis and research went into this decision, and while options were narrowed down by “scientific” means, a true winner had to take into consideration a few more subjective inputs.

Important qualifications for The School:

• Cute guys
• Fun guys
• Smart guys
• High earning potential for graduates

(Notice none of the characteristics have anything to do with actual playing ability or on-field record. Those got cut from the boys’ requirements list pretty early!)

The spreadsheet indicated that the schools with the most fun guys, shockingly, didn’t have the highest earning potential! How were we to find The School with The Team?! One of my guy friends invested in this project decided we should ditch the smarts to go for a guy who likes to have a good time—or else I should just hope our other guy friend invested in the project, a rare Harvard graduate who likes to party, had some friends from school to go after. Please. We can all assume I exhausted the gravy train of friends of friends long ago.

We came out with the following lists.

Fun schools:

• Penn State University – These guys seem like jerks, don’t they?


• University of Mississippi – Really? Do I strike you as a Southern Belle that these guys would be attracted to?
• University of Georgia – See entry above.
• West Virginia University – So many reasons for no.
• University of Texas – I’m so not into cowboy boots or hats. Oh, and I’ve dated a couple Texans. No thanks.

We eventually knocked out the party schools because if the guys are at a bar and having fun, that’s pretty self selecting. They didn’t have to go to a fun school to be a fun guy! Back to the potential earners or otherwise nice guys!

Most well-rounded guys, according to the spreadsheet:

• Texas A&M – See Texas above.
• University of Arizona – As a sister of two Arizona State University graduates, I think I’d be run out of the family.

As scientific as we could get cross-referencing several different college rankings:

1. UT Austin: #2 football ranking, #7 party school, respectable average SAT score of 1240
2. California (Berkeley): #10 football ranking, has a sister school with a party ranking of #10, #21 SAT (1337), #21 Salary ($112k mid career)
3. Notre Dame (#18 football ranking, #9 Salary, #20 SAT)

The winner ended up being Ohio State. What can I say? We went to a bar one day, there was a cute guy wearing an Ohio State jersey, and a team allegiance was born! Spreadsheets be damned! This might be one of the many reasons girls make guys crazy.

A perfect storm of knowledge and hypochondria

I may be kiiiiiiiiiind of a hypochondriac. I also know a LOT about heart disease—the number one killer of women. This is a treacherous combination, as it turns out.

One day, I was sitting at work, minding my own business, when my chest started to feel like an elephant was sitting on it and my left hand started tingling. Now, maybe I have allergies and maybe, as it turns out, they make my chest feel a little congested sometimes, and maybe I had been on conference calls all day and hadn’t had enough water to drink. Did you know that a symptom of not drinking enough fluids is tingly fingers and hands? And then maybe I started freaking out, which might have induced panic-attack lightheadedness…

Now, I’ve been to a lot of Red Dress Fashion Shows for women’s heart health during NY Fashion Weeks over the years. I’ve never been to a fashion show raising awareness about allergies or dehydration. And, what can I say? I’m very susceptible to fashion’s influence.

So, obviously, the only logical conclusion to my symptoms is that I was having a heart attack.

Of course, I immediately made the obligatory phone call to my mom:

“MOM!!!!!! Do you think I’m having a heart attack?!?! I think I may be having a heart attack!! What should I do? Shouldn’t I take aspirin?! I don’t have any aspirin!! I should start carrying around aspirin!!”

“Well, no, I wasn’t exercising. I was sitting at my desk on a conference call. Oh, you think a heart attack is more likely during physical assertion than sitting at my desk? Right, right, that is why so many movies feature politicians having heart attacks in shady hotel rooms with prostitutes, I suppose?”

“Yeah, I think I’m still going to the Urgent Care. I’m pretty sure I have heart disease. I know you are a nurse and everything, but have you been to any Red Dress fashion shows? I’m not sure you fully appreciate the significance of my symptoms.”

So, after a call to my boss:

“Hey, Peter, I’m pretty sure I’m having a heart attack so I’m going to run to the Urgent Care quickly. No, no, I’ll be back in time for the next conference call in about an hour or so—unless I don't come back. Ok, I’ll let you know!”

I went to the most legit Urgent Care I’ve ever been in (and, it should be no surprise that I’ve been in quite a few!), where the receptionist greeted me by asking what they could do for me. “Hello. I am having a heart attack.” With a quizzical look, she said, “Uh, ok. Have a seat and fill out these forms.” “Ok! Thanks!”

When I got back to the exam room, a helpful, cheery nurse did some preliminary evaluations and went to get the doctor. All the while I’m making jokes and live-tweeting my experience. After all, I have to keep my tweeps up to speed on the major events of my life—especially the potentially life threatening.

The doctor came in within a respectable amount of time, and I greeted her cheerfully and bubbly, putting my phone away. She started asking me the regular doctor exam questions:

“Do you smoke?”
“No.”
“Do you drink?”
“Yes.”
“Do you sometimes have more than 3 drinks in a night?”
“Yes, I’m trying to find a husband.”
“Well... I found my husband at a bar, so I can’t really judge that!”

Then she went on, “Well, I have to say, you are fine.”

Incredulously, I responded, “Are you sure I don’t have heart disease and am not having a heart attack?!? I mean, I’ve been to the fashion shows!” She didn’t get that reference, having not been to the shows herself, but we eventually got back on track.

“If you were having a heart attack, you would not be smiling and making jokes or on your phone. You would be in quite a bit of pain, doubled over even. Plus, the EKG we just did," YES! They have an EKG machine! Best. Urgent. Care. Ever! “…Was completely normal. Do you maybe have a tendency to overreact??”

Me??? Overreact?!? NEVER!



**Public service announcement: check out The Heart Truth. While heart disease didn’t do me in—yet—it really is the number one killer of women. Know the symptoms! But, use them for good, not for evil, as I seem to use “symptoms!”**