Some Gardening Tips

For real. I need to start reading these self-help dating handbooks. This past weekend has convinced me to do so as soon as possible...

To protect the identity of the asshole I am about to talk about, I will call him "Steven - the selfish, sleazy fuck- face".

A bunch of my friends and I planned a camping trip for the weekend. I was so excited to finally get out in the water and try new thing. Who best to do this with then your good friends, right?  The week flew by and on Thursday I find out that one friend can't go because of babysitting issues and the other decided to fly home for 3 weeks. :(  That only left me and this guy, "Steven".

After talking to him about it Thursday, he was still in and wanted us to go together. I was hesitant to do so, because I am not the most adventurous and I really didn't know "Steven" that well. We may have hung out once or twice before. To be quite honest with you, each time he was trying to hit on my one friend. He seemed cocky and fake, but hell, I gotta give it a shot. I need the practice talking to a man.

Here is a little background on "Steven - the selfish, sleazy fuck-face". He is a well educated man who works in finance and is originally from Indiana (a woman automatically thinks this means a sweet, southern boy, right? WRONG). I was trying to give him the benefit of the doubt. 

The first rule in my gardening handbook - if you notice a few weeds growing in your precious garden - whack 'em and move on. I never seem to pay attention to my instincts nor do I pay attention to the little details of a man's behavior.

The things I do for love... leads to my downfall.

Steve calls me Saturday afternoon to let me know that since he cannot find a place to build a "cool" campfire, he didn't want to go anymore. Well, thanks for telling me now asshole after I have been freaking out for the past two days trying to figure out what the heck I am even going to talk about with you in the middle of nowhere!  Not only that, you come up with the lamest excuse of all time. Sorry, we can't go back to your dumb boy scout days of playing with fire and shitting in the woods with all your buddies. Lame brotha, lame. You would have thought that I would be elated that this idiot bailed, but I was thinking, "my research - what is going to happen to my blog?".  So, I give in like any other girl in such an awkward position in her life. I put my game face back on and put my powers to the test the only way I know how - through a man's stomach.

I try and be nice to "Steven - the selfish, sleazy fuck-face", and invite him over to hang out. He said, "Well, what do you plan on doing?"  I said, "Cooking Chicken Parmesan and baking cookies". (I like to cook, it makes me happy.) He said, "ok, sweet! I will see you at 6:00."  I run to the store about four times because I kept forgetting things and I am too worried about what the fuck we are even going to talk about for four hours. Not to mention, I got the same annoying cashier every time that I kneeeew would take forever to ring up fifteen items (or less) in the the express lane. It was bad joke the managers pulled on us making us think we would even get out of the store any faster (in under 2 hours).

This cashier was crazy slow. I know fast cashiers. I used to be one back in the day. I would scan items so fast because I memorized where the bar codes are on every item in the store and knew every code for fruits and vegetables (for instance, bananas, code 4011) and pack every bag  perfectly separating the cold and dry goods (unlike sexy bagger). This lady would pull people's carts behind her register and twist herself all up in the scanner cord to scan every item in the cart and then bag the food.  Listen lady, if you are going to go anywhere in the grocery store business, you needs to know what you are working with. Food, people like to get in and out quickly, they aren't going in there to make conversation with you.  I know, after asking customers every day, "how are you?" with no response from the customer, that I should just give up.  You learn that too in customer service, which I have the pleasure and luxury to do at the tender age of 26.  People don't care who you are and how you feel, they only care about one thing - themselves and their families. Sucks, but that's life - you will see, Ms. Sally the cashier. Also, Sally, if you happen to get the same customer in the same day, please do not ask them every time if they would like to donate money to a particular organization. We feel good the first two times we donate, but feel like shit in front of everyone else when you finally start to say no the third time. Every time she saw me she would give me a free bag of Lay's salty chips and ask me if I would like to donate money to buy water for the needy. I did it the first two times lady, do you really have to make me feel guilty in front of everyone. Thank you, Sally, you made my day.

I digress.

This is where it gets interesting.  I go home and bust my ass to make homemade pasta sauce (fresh tomatoes and herbs) and  Italian breaded chicken for this douche and he has the nerve to show up 45 minutes late and stoned out of his mind. First thing he does is grab my little kitty, Pirate, (who was minding his own business, by the way, and starts fucking with him. I wanted to speak up for my baby, "He doesn't like to be molested, do you mind stepping away?" Then he opens a bottle of my wine after saying, "Hey, little lady." (that's all he said!), grabs the remote, and plays a documentary on "Potheads - Legalize it man".

Here's  the kicker...

I have a huge couch. He doesn't even sit facing me to try and make conversation, he hides in the corner, out of view, so that he can wrap his chicken legs around my couch cushions, practically humping them. Sad really, like a puppy.

He got up twice; once to pour himself a glass of water which he ended up spilling on the floor and the second time at dinner, dropping and wasting a  whole jar of shredded cheese (both of which I clean up). At this point I wanted him to choke on the chicken and pasta; ending the night early for my sake. Didn't quite end the way I wanted it to...

It dragged on for hours. I would ask him a question and he wouldn't even turn his head to acknowledge that I was even talking, let alone even answer the damn question. I tried to make a joke about the people on television. No response, not even a fake laugh. Dumb bastard! Give me all my food back, barf it up now! You are wasting my fucking time, buddy. I can't have a conversation with myself, dick.

Side-note: Oh, and then I guess he started to get really hot because he would use one of my dish cloths to dry his nasty sweat off his pedophile beard thing he has going on. Did anyone ever tell you, "Steven", that facial hair does make you look like a creepy pedophile?  Guess not.

After he had his fill with about $25 worth of my hard-earned money he decided to mess with my babies again. Shining laser lights in their eyes, making them claw my walls and furniture like a freakin' idiot. I tried to hint to him that I wasn't so thrilled but he wasn't getting my drift. I literally had to take the toy away from this small child. I felt like I was baby-sitting and I wasn't even being paid for it. How would you like it if I turned into a giant and put the laser right in your eyes? How would you like that? I didn't think so. Close my garden gates.

I wanted him to leave, badly. What excuse did I come up with?
"I don't feel good, I think I'm going to call it a night." 
His response, you ask?  None. No response, just pets my cat for a good 20 minutes, it might have been 30. I tried rubbing my head and laying down to give him the hint, yet again, NO. Nothing.
What the fuck does a girl need to do to get a  massive leech out of her own apartment.
I literally had to walk to the door, gather his keys and wallet and tell him to get the fuck out. Do you really need to bring the bitch out in me?

Does he offer to clean up? Ask me if I need anything? Apologize for being late AND being a douche the entire night? Nope.

Conclusion: Waste of space - "Steven". 

My reaction to it all? I sleep in the following day until 2:00 pm and binge on the homemade cookies that I refused to share the night before.

Next Blog... Dear Twin

"Hey Cutie" Update

Ok.

So here is the deal.  I am ashamed to admit this but the "spontaneous" idea I had was a complete failure and here's why - I have no fuckin' clue what I am doing.  The text messaging technique is lame. How do you get anywhere in a conversation if you can't even see what you are really working with? How the hell do I know what he is thinking? At least when you are having a conversation face-to-face I can tell within 2 minutes if someone is really worth my time. You don't think I'm funny? You don't want to laugh at my jokes?  Then fuck off. Simple as that. He could have been taking a shit the whole time we were texting and I wouldn't have even know.  My pop was right, if a boy is really interested, he will call you, not text you.  There is a little bit of hope that maybe, just maybe he is just shy and will grow some balls and call me...

Second spontaneous attempt at landing a man... in the grocery store by playing the helpless tiny girl that needs a big strong man to help carry the groceries out to the car.

Setting: Albertons grocery store (back parking lot -- need some distance to make conversation on the way out).
Day: Sunday, mid-afternoon (when all the sexy men are out shopping, probably for another special someone:(...or looking for me!!!).

So, I walk in the store, with one thing on my mind.  Finding a man.  I aimlessly walk the aisles trying to find the few things I actually need (but I know where everything is in the store because that's all I ever really do with my time)... yeah, anyway.

There were a few employees I found cute, but had to pass on for 2 reasons: braces and acne.  I need to at least try hit on someone my own age.

I keep walking, applying lip gloss twirling my greasy hair and then see the most beautiful bag boy ever at register 2.  BINGO BABY...

So I rush in line-cutting off some old bitch who gave me a dirty look for being able to walk faster than her... and then it happened - eye contact! The old man rings up my shit and I kindly ask the sexy bagger to place all of my items in 2 bags using paper and plastic, colds in one bag, dry goods in the other.  Not too much to ask of a tall strong sexy bagger right? Wrong.

As I was talking to the cashier who, by the way, based off his army pictures from WWII (it was hanging up at his register) was quite the stud, the sexy bagger fucks it up.  Next thing I know I have 4 PLASTIC bags full of groceries (mixing the cold and dry items)!!!  He was lucky he was helping me out to my car and I was on a mission, that I let those small details go.  If I weren't working it, I would have unpacked all of the bags right there on the counter, holding the line up, cursing, trying to tell this dumb fuck how to listen and pack bags correctly!  Asshole.

This is how it ended; the sexy bagger walks me to the door (not to my car) and proceeds to try and balance these bags in my hands so that he can go whack off in the bathroom somewhere. I try one more thing - the old "mistakenly" dropping an item pretending that I can't pick it up. I nonchalantly drop my receipt and a graduation card I had gotten for my cousin (this is all in slow motion in my mind) I drop it, I slowly look at the piece of paper drop from my fragile hands, lost to the wind, flying by couples with annoying babies. Then, it stops, in between the entrance and the parking lot.  I wait, looking flustered and in despair, waiting for my prince in uniform to save the day.

I wait, wait, and wait...

...and a car drives by running over my receipt and $1.99 graduation card.

My reaction? Pure rage. I stomp all the way back to my car, throw my groceries in the back seat, slamming all the doors, get in my car and just stare at my now useless card laying helplessly in the middle of the street. My eyes filling with tears, I reach for a piece of a peanut putter snickers bar I had just bought 15 minutes earlier at the gas station, and its fuckin' melted all over my car (and now my hands and clean cloths).

I fucking hate the Arizona summers.

Before I follow "The Rules"

Alright.  So, I decided that before I go into all this research I am going to try and see how I do my own using the limited knowledge that I have acquired through past experiences (and of course advice from friends). For you all that know me already, I am very spontaneous and rarely back down from a challenge.  Let me set the stage:

Location:  A crowded KO's Restaurant.
Time 11:45 AM (lunchtime)
Attire: Professional dress (as professional as you can be getting up 10 minutes before you have to leave).
Temperature: To make it that much more interesting, 100+ degrees.
Company: A good friend from work named Beth (who I discussed starting this site with and who helped me add the frog picture to the right).

Eating, eating, eating, spontaneous idea pops into my mind! (Genius, I might add).  I am going to be one of those corny actresses in a romantic comedy about finding prince charming at a bar leaving her number for the sexy waiter.

I thought to myself, "I think our waiter is good looking (minus the poodle hair).  He seems nice.  I am going to try and hit on him to see how good I am.  So I did the one thing I know you must do to land a guy... make eye contact and smile like you are staring the definition of "hotness" in the face.

I also made sure my boobs looked good, didn't have anything in my teeth, no eye boogies and didn't look fat at that angle( from where Beth sits)... oh and the lip gloss...

He brings the check and I thought "that's the ticket... the test!!!" See if it worked by leaving my number and seeing if he calls me... Then I can practice the rules on this guinea pig. So I kindly asked Beth to write, "Hi, Cutie" and my number. (This was only because I have the worst handwriting in the world and I wanted it to look somewhat flirtatious and cute, knowing that I write like a man, or because I am left-handed and no one that is left handed has good handwriting.) ANYWAY... back to the story.

I go back to work and I am freaking out the rest of the day for doing something so dumb.  What 26 year old gives their waiter their digits, on a lunch break?  Great! Now he's going to stalk me on Facebook... he is going to find out where I live and chop me up or his girlfriend is going to stab me in my sleep. Eh. Fuck it.

I get home and by that point forget what I had even done. I get a text from a random number.  Then it hits me like a ton of bricks... I left the number on the check... shit.
He wrote, "Thank you for the note. It made my day."

I literally sat there for 10 minutes thinking of a response.  The only scenario I thought of was the typical "hi" "hey whats up" scenario.  Not the "you made my day"quote that wasn't even a question, how do I know that he even wants me to respond...I wrote, "I'm glad. :)".  I waited for a minute and thought, "That is the dumbest thing you could have wrote!!!"  You should have said something really flirtatious like, "I could make your night" (but in a less slutty tone than I have in my head right now).  I ruined it. "Such an idiot!", I thought.  I might have been overacting because he wrote, "So what are you up to tonight?"....

Ok. Pause... I stopped texting him to write this blog entry.  What the hell am I going to say? I can't tell him the truth, that I am a single 26 year old girl that stays home on the weekends to write, read and cuddle with my cats?  I am doomed...

Here's the Deal Pops

Ok. So this past winter I thought it would be good to have a book discussion with my pop and Aunt Jackie on "The Rules"by Ellen Fein and Sherri Schneiner. This was some serious shit... the commandments of finding "the one".  I needed advice from people who have been around the block... First to come to my mind was my pop.  Pops knows his shit.  He brags over vodka and tonic every Wednesday night at some fancy Italian restaurant (I guess it brings him back to his younger days).  So I decided to take him up on the challenge of documenting as much love advice as I possible could fit in the margins of my book.  In all honesty, some of the things he said were so amazing, almost poetic. He talked as though he was reliving each moment back in his blissful dating years.  I thought it would be a fabulous idea to share my discoveries of dating using the tips and techniques of some of most talked about authors and anyone who wants to share their personal experiences with love (maybe we all have stories that we can relate to or comment on a particular subject). 

We all want to find prince charming but we need to learn the ropes from each other.  Let's get started, shall we?