And it's Monday again already.
I drove down to see my sister on Friday afternoon after school. I stayed over and came back on Saturday night.
Thursday morning, while she was getting dressed, her dog had fallen into the pool. She went out side and saw him floating. She got him out, did CPR and mouth-to-mouth, and actually brought him back. Her neighbor drove them to the vet, where Indy seemed to be making quite a recovery. Looking around, trying to sit up. Did so well in fact that they said my sister could pick him up around three that afternoon. They wanted to keep him to warm him up, since his core temperature had fallen to 91 degrees, almost 10 below where a dog's is supposed to be.
She went back in at three, and they told her that he had died only 10 minutes before she got there. His heart just couldn't make it, fighter that he was.
God.
It's awful enough when a pet, a buddy dies, but this. It's horrible. She is being good to herself, most of the time, trying not to blame herself, but of course she does. No matter that he'd never fallen in before, no matter that she only had left him for a few minutes outside.
I tried to distract her (my need to constantly be talking is good for something, at least), and was just there for her. She's four months along now in her pregnancy, and this can't be helping any. I hate that she's so far away from my mom and everyone. I mean, it's not that far, not really, but it's not like I can just pop over there tonight with a pizza either.
Charlie has been getting very annoyed with me these past few days. I can't stop hugging him.
Monday, January 30, 2006
Thursday, January 26, 2006
Taking a time out
My sister's wonderful little dog, Indy, died today. It was an accident and a rotten thing to have happen. I don't feel like writing about it or anything else tonight.
Wednesday, January 25, 2006
Okay, okay, here I am
So, you know how you keep putting off getting back to that old friend, and the next thing you know, there's just too much to catch up on, so then you just say "forget it" and the friendship dissolves into hurriedly signed Christmas cards?
That's how I feel about catching up with this blog. Not that too many folks read it, but still. I have tried to comment a few times on other's blogs, but haven't written much of anything this last week. Sorry.
Mom is back to her old self. She was, shall we say, a hoot last Wednesday.
I picked her up at 6:30 am, and she had already taken the drug that put her in a "twilight" state. She was just like a movie drunk, giggly and unable to stand up straight. Getting her down the stairs outside her apartment was quite a feat, I tell you.
We got on the road, and I realized I didn't know where the dental surgeon's office was.
"Dat's okah huneh... I know where ih is." She told me to get off the freeway at Mission, and then turn left at Cottage. Problem is, Cottage isn't a street, it's the name of a hospital.
"No... you know... left at Cottage."
"Mom, there's no street called that. What's the name of the doctor?"
"I can't remembah that ri' now. I'll get us there...don worry. You jus' turn dow' a liddle alley way, after Cottage street."
Her surgery was at 7:00, and I was getting worried. However, Mom pulled it through. She actually got us there, and we did turn left at Cottage. Just after passing the hospital, we turned left, and then, yep, there was the alley. Got her into the doctor's office, and went to go get a mocha and entertain myself (grade papers) until she was finished.
It was supposed to take three to four hours, this surgery/root canal she was having done, but ended up taking five and a half. I should have eaten lunch.
She was ornery when I picked her up. Her lower lip was sticking way out, like a little girl who's pouting, and she was still slurring her words. She was very upset that the doctor had made her keep her mouth open for so long.
"It's so sore now. I tol' him I had the tee em jay problem, bu' he still kept my mouth open all dat time."
"Well, I don't know how else he could have done the root canal Mom..."
She was then quite angry that they had wanted to keep her partial denture. Since they had put in three new crowns, it didn't fit properly, and they wanted to keep it, to adjust it.
"Bu' I woudn' leddam. No way. I can't chew withou' that. I need ih to eat. Bu' it shur is botherin' me ri' now. It's really rubbin' agains' my cheek."
"It will do that until you get it fixed Mom."
(I know, what the hell was I thinking, trying to reason with a doped up woman? Sometimes I just don't think.)
We got home, and getting her up the stairs was even more difficult. I got her inside, and she refused to get into her nightgown and go to bed. She said she wanted to watch tv in the living room.
Okay, so I got her set up in her chair, got her some watered down cranberry juice (which she promptly spilled down her shirt because half of her mouth was still numb), and made sure she wasn't going to go anywhere.
See, I had to go get her prescriptions filled at the pharmacy. I didn't want to leave her alone, but I did need to get her medicine. Boy, was that a mistake.
to be continued...
That's how I feel about catching up with this blog. Not that too many folks read it, but still. I have tried to comment a few times on other's blogs, but haven't written much of anything this last week. Sorry.
Mom is back to her old self. She was, shall we say, a hoot last Wednesday.
I picked her up at 6:30 am, and she had already taken the drug that put her in a "twilight" state. She was just like a movie drunk, giggly and unable to stand up straight. Getting her down the stairs outside her apartment was quite a feat, I tell you.
We got on the road, and I realized I didn't know where the dental surgeon's office was.
"Dat's okah huneh... I know where ih is." She told me to get off the freeway at Mission, and then turn left at Cottage. Problem is, Cottage isn't a street, it's the name of a hospital.
"No... you know... left at Cottage."
"Mom, there's no street called that. What's the name of the doctor?"
"I can't remembah that ri' now. I'll get us there...don worry. You jus' turn dow' a liddle alley way, after Cottage street."
Her surgery was at 7:00, and I was getting worried. However, Mom pulled it through. She actually got us there, and we did turn left at Cottage. Just after passing the hospital, we turned left, and then, yep, there was the alley. Got her into the doctor's office, and went to go get a mocha and entertain myself (grade papers) until she was finished.
It was supposed to take three to four hours, this surgery/root canal she was having done, but ended up taking five and a half. I should have eaten lunch.
She was ornery when I picked her up. Her lower lip was sticking way out, like a little girl who's pouting, and she was still slurring her words. She was very upset that the doctor had made her keep her mouth open for so long.
"It's so sore now. I tol' him I had the tee em jay problem, bu' he still kept my mouth open all dat time."
"Well, I don't know how else he could have done the root canal Mom..."
She was then quite angry that they had wanted to keep her partial denture. Since they had put in three new crowns, it didn't fit properly, and they wanted to keep it, to adjust it.
"Bu' I woudn' leddam. No way. I can't chew withou' that. I need ih to eat. Bu' it shur is botherin' me ri' now. It's really rubbin' agains' my cheek."
"It will do that until you get it fixed Mom."
(I know, what the hell was I thinking, trying to reason with a doped up woman? Sometimes I just don't think.)
We got home, and getting her up the stairs was even more difficult. I got her inside, and she refused to get into her nightgown and go to bed. She said she wanted to watch tv in the living room.
Okay, so I got her set up in her chair, got her some watered down cranberry juice (which she promptly spilled down her shirt because half of her mouth was still numb), and made sure she wasn't going to go anywhere.
See, I had to go get her prescriptions filled at the pharmacy. I didn't want to leave her alone, but I did need to get her medicine. Boy, was that a mistake.
to be continued...
Saturday, January 21, 2006
Still not enough time to tell the tale
I will, don't worry. There's lots.
Let's just give you this teaser: I ended my night Wednesday by chasing off imaginary coyotes I believed were eating my dog, screaming because I (briefly) lost the ability to speak, and realizing I had completely wet my pants.
Let's just give you this teaser: I ended my night Wednesday by chasing off imaginary coyotes I believed were eating my dog, screaming because I (briefly) lost the ability to speak, and realizing I had completely wet my pants.
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
Taking care of mom
I'm still at her house, but suffice it to say, it's been great story material. Now, if I can just get the burn mark out of her rug.
I'm crazed this week, you'll all have to wait until the weekend for the scoop.
I'm crazed this week, you'll all have to wait until the weekend for the scoop.
Monday, January 16, 2006
Sunday, January 15, 2006
How did my eyes get smaller?
So I got the new passport in the mail yesterday. Remember how I said it wasn't the best picture? I was wrong. It's the most horrid picture of myself yet. I mean, I spent fifteen minutes staring in the mirror last night, trying to see the resemblance between the face looking back at me, and the old hag in the passport photo. I also kept comparing it against the pretty girl in my old passport, from twenty years ago.
I thought about posting the two photos side by side here, but that's too much grist for certain elements that read this blog. I know it's a putrid photo, I don't need to advertise it.
See, the girl in the old passport, the 21-year-old, had these huge blue eyes and long, thick, black lashes. She's not wearing any makeup, and yet her skin looks perfect... or almost perfect... a small red blemish on her chin does nothing to take away from her beauty. She's wearing a sweater her mom knitted for her, a lovely teal green, and a shirt her mother made for her sister, which the girl in the passport photo swiped. The funny thing about that shirt is that it had upside down palm trees on it, because the girl's mother didn't check the pattern before she cut it out. The girl always loved that shirt. She's even wearing abalone earrings her mother made. I forgot how creative this girl's mother used to be. I still have those earrings, and wear them once in a while.
The old biddy in the new passport photo doesn't have a single blemish, or at least one that can be seen. She's wearing makeup that could've been put on with a trowel, it's so thick. She was sick when the photo was taken, and had several spots on her face. Although she rarely wears foundation makeup, she piled it on for this, knowing the photo would be around a while. What the old woman in the photo didn't realize was that the makeup would make her looked washed out and tired. Kind of like an old sheet you can see through when it's hanging on the line.
Her eyes are small and red. She's not wearing the glasses she normally wears, out of vanity. She put in her contacts that morning, which always irritate her. Where her eyelashes are, are as good your guess as mine. Her dyed brown hair is too short, and curls under lamely on her forehead. There's one wayward lock of hair doing its Alfalfa imitation in the back. She's not looking into the camera, and it's caught her just before she really smiled. Her teeth are white, but her lips are small. The shadow behind her makes her looks as if she's got some kind of Carol Brady shag going on at her neck. The bottom part of the photo is out of focus.
Eww.
Why oh why didn't I go and get the photos taken first? Then, even if I had to pay more, I'd at least have a chance of a reasonably decent looking photo. Now, I'm stuck with this shit for 10 years. Yeah, 10 years from now, I might say I looked younger, but I certainly hope I don't say I looked better.
I thought about posting the two photos side by side here, but that's too much grist for certain elements that read this blog. I know it's a putrid photo, I don't need to advertise it.
See, the girl in the old passport, the 21-year-old, had these huge blue eyes and long, thick, black lashes. She's not wearing any makeup, and yet her skin looks perfect... or almost perfect... a small red blemish on her chin does nothing to take away from her beauty. She's wearing a sweater her mom knitted for her, a lovely teal green, and a shirt her mother made for her sister, which the girl in the passport photo swiped. The funny thing about that shirt is that it had upside down palm trees on it, because the girl's mother didn't check the pattern before she cut it out. The girl always loved that shirt. She's even wearing abalone earrings her mother made. I forgot how creative this girl's mother used to be. I still have those earrings, and wear them once in a while.
The old biddy in the new passport photo doesn't have a single blemish, or at least one that can be seen. She's wearing makeup that could've been put on with a trowel, it's so thick. She was sick when the photo was taken, and had several spots on her face. Although she rarely wears foundation makeup, she piled it on for this, knowing the photo would be around a while. What the old woman in the photo didn't realize was that the makeup would make her looked washed out and tired. Kind of like an old sheet you can see through when it's hanging on the line.
Her eyes are small and red. She's not wearing the glasses she normally wears, out of vanity. She put in her contacts that morning, which always irritate her. Where her eyelashes are, are as good your guess as mine. Her dyed brown hair is too short, and curls under lamely on her forehead. There's one wayward lock of hair doing its Alfalfa imitation in the back. She's not looking into the camera, and it's caught her just before she really smiled. Her teeth are white, but her lips are small. The shadow behind her makes her looks as if she's got some kind of Carol Brady shag going on at her neck. The bottom part of the photo is out of focus.
Eww.
Why oh why didn't I go and get the photos taken first? Then, even if I had to pay more, I'd at least have a chance of a reasonably decent looking photo. Now, I'm stuck with this shit for 10 years. Yeah, 10 years from now, I might say I looked younger, but I certainly hope I don't say I looked better.
Saturday, January 14, 2006
Organizationally Impaired
So the latest news from my principal is that he is looking for a "state of impeccability" in each and every one of our classrooms (and I'm not even sure it's a word).
This is not good news for me. I'm messy. A slob to some people, but I prefer the title of this post. I just don't know how some people stay so organized. OCD? That's the only explanation I have.
But, if you look inside any cupboard, drawer or my closets, everything has a place. I'm not a shover or hider. I don't stuff things under the bed or behind the dresser. If I'm going to the trouble of putting something away, it's got to have a place. And that's my problem. Not everything has a place.
Right now I have some money to order classroom supplies. Not a lot, but some. I'm trying to find some magnetic file holders I can put on the whiteboards in my room, but I haven't seen them yet. Maybe they don't exist. What can I get that will help with the paper deluge? There's just so much, and so little space.
Home is the same story. My kitchen is set up for the Keebler elves, and that includes the one cupboard on the wall. Last year I got a pot rack, so at least I have a bit more room, but I still store all my bakeware in my oven. Which means I have to take it out every time I want to cook a weightwatcher's pizza. And where do I put it? Not the dining room table, which is covered with god knows what. Books, papers, scarves, bills, doggie treats, boxes from Christmas presents "I might use someday."
I'm trying to get a microwave cart, something like this, because right now, I have the microwave on top of an old typing table that my grandfather swiped from Massachusetts Electric company over 50 years ago. However, if I get the cart, that means I have to find a new home for the table. Which of course I don't want to get rid of.
Oi.
I have to go to the eyeglass place to get new lenses for my glasses, but I left the prescription for them at school. More disorganization. How to get organized? I don't know what will work for me.
This is not good news for me. I'm messy. A slob to some people, but I prefer the title of this post. I just don't know how some people stay so organized. OCD? That's the only explanation I have.
But, if you look inside any cupboard, drawer or my closets, everything has a place. I'm not a shover or hider. I don't stuff things under the bed or behind the dresser. If I'm going to the trouble of putting something away, it's got to have a place. And that's my problem. Not everything has a place.
Right now I have some money to order classroom supplies. Not a lot, but some. I'm trying to find some magnetic file holders I can put on the whiteboards in my room, but I haven't seen them yet. Maybe they don't exist. What can I get that will help with the paper deluge? There's just so much, and so little space.
Home is the same story. My kitchen is set up for the Keebler elves, and that includes the one cupboard on the wall. Last year I got a pot rack, so at least I have a bit more room, but I still store all my bakeware in my oven. Which means I have to take it out every time I want to cook a weightwatcher's pizza. And where do I put it? Not the dining room table, which is covered with god knows what. Books, papers, scarves, bills, doggie treats, boxes from Christmas presents "I might use someday."
I'm trying to get a microwave cart, something like this, because right now, I have the microwave on top of an old typing table that my grandfather swiped from Massachusetts Electric company over 50 years ago. However, if I get the cart, that means I have to find a new home for the table. Which of course I don't want to get rid of.
Oi.
I have to go to the eyeglass place to get new lenses for my glasses, but I left the prescription for them at school. More disorganization. How to get organized? I don't know what will work for me.
Thursday, January 12, 2006
If I didn't have to sleep (or enjoy it so damn much) I'd get a lot more done
First things first, as of last night, I have officially lost 29 pounds. Yahoolamunga! Of course, it's only the first part. I've got a good 40 more to go. But, it sure feels good.
Okay, so I don't have enough time to write much this morning; today the English Department is meeting at 7:45 am. It's the end of the semester, and I've got papers to grade (shocker). We still haven't found an apartment for our stay in Paris, and I'm getting nervous about it. We've found two that were what we wanted, but both were rented out. One of the girls only wants to stay in the 3rd arridons-whateverit'scalled, and the other is just looking at our choices and saying "yea" or "nay."
I start my 10-week French class tonight (for "low beginners"), and I have a conference tomorrow, so today I also have to get ready for my substitute in my class. Next week Mom is having surgery(the whole story of which will be a separate post), and I'm taking another day off from work to take her to and from and stay with her afterwards.
Trying to juggle things in my single, not responsible for anyone else but my dog life, is still getting to me today.
Okay, so I don't have enough time to write much this morning; today the English Department is meeting at 7:45 am. It's the end of the semester, and I've got papers to grade (shocker). We still haven't found an apartment for our stay in Paris, and I'm getting nervous about it. We've found two that were what we wanted, but both were rented out. One of the girls only wants to stay in the 3rd arridons-whateverit'scalled, and the other is just looking at our choices and saying "yea" or "nay."
I start my 10-week French class tonight (for "low beginners"), and I have a conference tomorrow, so today I also have to get ready for my substitute in my class. Next week Mom is having surgery(the whole story of which will be a separate post), and I'm taking another day off from work to take her to and from and stay with her afterwards.
Trying to juggle things in my single, not responsible for anyone else but my dog life, is still getting to me today.
Sunday, January 08, 2006
Wine Tasting in the Valley
"It's a mis-cheeee-vious little wine... it needs to be spanked."
(You will either get the above reference or not. Don't think too hard about it.)
Yesterday was a fun day. Katrina and I went wine tasting in the afternoon after an hour long walk with the doggies. Weather was perfect, it wasn't too crowded, and the wine was, well, wine.
I worked at Beckmen Winery and Tasting room for four years. Actually, I'm still "on-call" but no one has called me for over a year and a half. I have no idea what happened, or why, after all that time, I was bumped, but I have my suspicions.
It still bothers me a bit, this not knowing why I was shut out. I was a loyal and good employee, always was on time, never asked for a raise from the $8 an hour at which I started. I got a 50% discount on great wine, and that was enough for me.
Anyway, no time to go into great details about how I was wronged. They hired a jerk, and the next thing you know, friends and relatives are working and I'm out in the cold. I like both Mr. Beckmen's, don't misunderstand me, but I don't think they had a clue what kind of nonsense was going on in the tasting room.
Eh. Got another walk to get to right now. Then it's work, work, work. Only two weeks until the end of the semester!
Thursday, January 05, 2006
Antibiotics and a sore toe
So, I've never had an ingrown toenail before (always thought that was an old person thing), and my doctor tells me she's "not sure" if what I have is an ingrown toenail. It might just be an infected cuticle.
Whatever. It feels like a large stick pin is being shoved into it most of the time, and if I bump it at all, it feels closer to a carving knife.
"Oh, but I've seen much worse."
Great, but I'm not worried about all the ingrown toenails of the world, just mine.
This is my second go round. I went once to the walk-in clinic in November, the harried nurse practitioner gave me some antibiotics and I went home.
Two weeks later, it was slightly better. Then got worse. I kept hoping it would clear up, but no.
Went to my own doctor last week, and she prescribed more anti-biotics, and told me to soak my toe every night. Okay.
Now, these are the antibiotics from hell. They are huge for one thing. The kind that go down only halfway, and then the gel covering starts dissolving in the middle of your throat. I can live with that. Next, I have to take them 4 times a day. Sounds easy enough, but I teach pretty much straight through; I'm always forgetting the one at lunchtime.
I shouldn't say lunch time, because that's when I eat. The worst thing about trying to take these pills is that they are to be taken on an empty stomach. "One hour before or three hours after eating."
Does anyone know how hard that is? I put a pill and a glass of water next to my bedside each night so that the moment I wake up, I can take it. Then, I can actually eat breakfast before I go to work. The past two days I have forgotten to take my 11 am pill, because I'm, uh... teaching. Then it's lunchtime, and I remember, but if I eat my lunch, I still can't take the pill until 3 pm. If I take the pill, I can't eat until 1 pm, but I'm... oh yeah... teaching then. Then we have the dinnertime pill. This one isn't so hard. I usually eat late, so I just have to remember to take the darn pill when I get home from work. But... that last pill? I usually end up eating around 8 pm. Problem is that I have to wait until 11 pm to take it. If you know me, that's really late in my book for going to bed.
A little thing to complain about, I know... but you'd think they'd figure out an easier way to take these little suckers. Why even use this when there's so many other ones out there? I mean, we've got great scientists coming up with new medicine all the time...
And my foot? Well it's been 6 days and my big toe is still red and angry and sore.
I really don't want to go back to the doctor again.
Whatever. It feels like a large stick pin is being shoved into it most of the time, and if I bump it at all, it feels closer to a carving knife.
"Oh, but I've seen much worse."
Great, but I'm not worried about all the ingrown toenails of the world, just mine.
This is my second go round. I went once to the walk-in clinic in November, the harried nurse practitioner gave me some antibiotics and I went home.
Two weeks later, it was slightly better. Then got worse. I kept hoping it would clear up, but no.
Went to my own doctor last week, and she prescribed more anti-biotics, and told me to soak my toe every night. Okay.
Now, these are the antibiotics from hell. They are huge for one thing. The kind that go down only halfway, and then the gel covering starts dissolving in the middle of your throat. I can live with that. Next, I have to take them 4 times a day. Sounds easy enough, but I teach pretty much straight through; I'm always forgetting the one at lunchtime.
I shouldn't say lunch time, because that's when I eat. The worst thing about trying to take these pills is that they are to be taken on an empty stomach. "One hour before or three hours after eating."
Does anyone know how hard that is? I put a pill and a glass of water next to my bedside each night so that the moment I wake up, I can take it. Then, I can actually eat breakfast before I go to work. The past two days I have forgotten to take my 11 am pill, because I'm, uh... teaching. Then it's lunchtime, and I remember, but if I eat my lunch, I still can't take the pill until 3 pm. If I take the pill, I can't eat until 1 pm, but I'm... oh yeah... teaching then. Then we have the dinnertime pill. This one isn't so hard. I usually eat late, so I just have to remember to take the darn pill when I get home from work. But... that last pill? I usually end up eating around 8 pm. Problem is that I have to wait until 11 pm to take it. If you know me, that's really late in my book for going to bed.
A little thing to complain about, I know... but you'd think they'd figure out an easier way to take these little suckers. Why even use this when there's so many other ones out there? I mean, we've got great scientists coming up with new medicine all the time...
And my foot? Well it's been 6 days and my big toe is still red and angry and sore.
I really don't want to go back to the doctor again.
Monday, January 02, 2006
The last day of freedom
So, I had a great time Saturday night. Took me forever to find something to wear. Met up with everyone around 10:30. Couples, couples everywhere, as far as the eye could see. It was okay though, because we were all just into having fun. The band was too darn loud, and I thought the lead singer was a woman until he said something about trying to find a date (I couldn't see him for the crowds, but when I did, he looked like a guy... just sang like Shakira).
After midnight, my other single girlfriend started chatting up some guy; his friend decided to talk to me. Nick was his name. How pleasant to have male attention, even it it was lubricated quite a bit by too many beers. He was somewhat of a dork, but I guess I am too. His not-so-smart comment came when he was talking about not going out too much anymore.
"I'm 32 now so I don't need to go out and get wasted every night. Although, it's not like I'm 42 or an old man or anything."
Huh. I didn't mention that I'm 41. Guess guys are self-conscious about their ages too. This guy was balding, so I suppose he wanted to make sure that I didn't think he was older than he was. He just didn't realize that I was older than I look.
And you guys? Most women don't care too much about the balding/receding hairline thing. That seems to be more of your worry. I'm not saying all women are deep and don't care about looks at all, but from what I know, hair isn't too much of an issue. Not as much as some other things.
What other things, do you ask? Well, scent. Scent is a biggie with me and most females. Clean is best. Axxe is the worst. Or any cologne that's so strong it takes the curl out of my hair, or brings on an asthma attack. I actually like cologne, but only when I can smell it when I'm hugging you. Any stronger and it's not right. If you smoke, and you shouldn't, be very careful. Your clothes tend to reek. The only thing worse than cigarette smoke is stale cigarette smoke. I have friends who are careful about this, and then I know some folks who aren't. Big fat turn- off.
As long as I'm being petty and shallow right now, I'll go into clothes choices. Wear clothes that fit please. Wear clean, unstained, and unripped clothes. Make sure all your buttons are there. You might have been a size 32 in high school, but that doesn't mean you still are. If your jacket rides up over your belly, it's time to go shopping.
My favorite outfit on a guy? A white untucked button-down shirt with well fitting jeans. Simple, unfussy, and reasonably comfortable, right? I'm not a fashionista, so I don't expect high style from anyone else.
Anyway, back to this Nick dude. He was trying so hard to hook up with someone, but not having any luck. Meanwhile, Donald, the friend of Michelle from last summer, showed up. He sortof, kindof asked me on a date a while ago, and then nothing. Well, he all of a sudden seemed quite interested in talking to me now that I was sitting with Nick. Of course, it was New Year's Eve, and after midnight, so he probably was tanked as well.
Hey guys, here's a question for you. How come you aren't interested in me, couldn't give me the time of day, unless someone else, anyone else is interested? So weird.
So, Nick gives me his number (I still haven't decided if I will call), and Donald gives me a big Happy New Year's kiss goodnight.
Not a bad way to start the year.
After midnight, my other single girlfriend started chatting up some guy; his friend decided to talk to me. Nick was his name. How pleasant to have male attention, even it it was lubricated quite a bit by too many beers. He was somewhat of a dork, but I guess I am too. His not-so-smart comment came when he was talking about not going out too much anymore.
"I'm 32 now so I don't need to go out and get wasted every night. Although, it's not like I'm 42 or an old man or anything."
Huh. I didn't mention that I'm 41. Guess guys are self-conscious about their ages too. This guy was balding, so I suppose he wanted to make sure that I didn't think he was older than he was. He just didn't realize that I was older than I look.
And you guys? Most women don't care too much about the balding/receding hairline thing. That seems to be more of your worry. I'm not saying all women are deep and don't care about looks at all, but from what I know, hair isn't too much of an issue. Not as much as some other things.
What other things, do you ask? Well, scent. Scent is a biggie with me and most females. Clean is best. Axxe is the worst. Or any cologne that's so strong it takes the curl out of my hair, or brings on an asthma attack. I actually like cologne, but only when I can smell it when I'm hugging you. Any stronger and it's not right. If you smoke, and you shouldn't, be very careful. Your clothes tend to reek. The only thing worse than cigarette smoke is stale cigarette smoke. I have friends who are careful about this, and then I know some folks who aren't. Big fat turn- off.
As long as I'm being petty and shallow right now, I'll go into clothes choices. Wear clothes that fit please. Wear clean, unstained, and unripped clothes. Make sure all your buttons are there. You might have been a size 32 in high school, but that doesn't mean you still are. If your jacket rides up over your belly, it's time to go shopping.
My favorite outfit on a guy? A white untucked button-down shirt with well fitting jeans. Simple, unfussy, and reasonably comfortable, right? I'm not a fashionista, so I don't expect high style from anyone else.
Anyway, back to this Nick dude. He was trying so hard to hook up with someone, but not having any luck. Meanwhile, Donald, the friend of Michelle from last summer, showed up. He sortof, kindof asked me on a date a while ago, and then nothing. Well, he all of a sudden seemed quite interested in talking to me now that I was sitting with Nick. Of course, it was New Year's Eve, and after midnight, so he probably was tanked as well.
Hey guys, here's a question for you. How come you aren't interested in me, couldn't give me the time of day, unless someone else, anyone else is interested? So weird.
So, Nick gives me his number (I still haven't decided if I will call), and Donald gives me a big Happy New Year's kiss goodnight.
Not a bad way to start the year.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)