The Request

Dear Universal Powers That Be,

I've come to accept that you are incapable of minding your own business when it comes to my personal life. If you insist on sticking your nose where it doesn't belong, I ask that you at least use the following as a guideline for your misguided (though well intentioned) hints and nudges.

Before you drop anymore eligible men on my doorstep, it would be wise for you to update your screening process and refrain from sending me anymore...: married men, gay men, men old enough to be my father, assholes or losers.

The preferred qualities a man must posses (aside from actually being straight and single) are: intelligence, kindness, thoughtfulness, humor and a fondness for children (though not in a perverse way.)

Finally, if it is within your power, someone who is masculine and yet a gentleman would be nice. I think deep down we all want someone who will make us feel protected and treated like a lady.

Thank you for your good intentions.

Lindsey

P.S. Broad shoulders and strong hands are a plus!

Signs

I've come to the conclusion that the universe doesn't always mind it's own business. Instead it nags and pesters...dropping little hints, trying to nudge us in one direction versus another.

At lunch on Friday I somehow became entangled in the lunch discussion on internet dating and how I should really try it so I wouldn't be alone anymore. I raised an eyebrow and they (with their 24 years of wisdom and failed marriage each...might I add) informed me that since I was nearing the age of 29, finding a man was more important than ever.

The next day I joined my family at my parent's house for my brother Scott's 27th birthday. During the slicing of the cake my mother starts making cracks about my impending 29th, to which I roll my eyes and pretend not to hear her. My brother then makes the observation that there are no problems for guys getting older...no one makes an issue about it like they do with girls. Plus he's found that "more women dig him as he gets older." Ugh. Can I throw up now?

To wrap up my day I made a pit stop at the bookstore only find myself face to face with an author doing a book signing. His book: "Dating Strategies 101."

I turned around and walked out.

He's Got Game

From a woman's perspective, great pleasure can be taken when watching men try to spit game.

Sometimes it's like watching a wildlife mating ritual on Animal Planet. The men strut about...chests all puffed out, their voices suddenly dropping an octave, emitting various calls and whistles in hopes of enticing nearby females.

For a lot of men, boasting a bit about themselves is almost inevitable when they find themselves around a woman they want to impress. Everything gets a little bigger...a little better. Trust me, I understand, it's almost a knee-jerk reaction...but in the process of boasting...some men either A.) Exaggerate or B.) Lie altogether. Be it about their job, their home, income...whatever.

Such a thing happened yesterday while in line at the grocery store next to my apartments. This guy starts telling me all about his restaurant (ownership implied)...and then there was mention of having tiled floors in his house (nice home implied). I nodded and briefly feigned interest until I could escape to the safety of my car. (Did I mention that he repeatedly called me Sweetheart?) Not 5 minutes later...I was sitting in my car trying to gather my things together when I noticed the same guy unassumingly pulling into the apartment building next to mine and carrying his groceries in.

Ahhhhhhhhhh. I couldn't help but to crack a smile. So much for the big tiled house and fancy restaurant...I know for a fact that the only tile in his place is a 3 x3 feet square in the entryway.

Sheer Craziness

I am afraid that I find myself at a complete loss.

I have no answers and frankly, I'm startled by the questions...

Recently I had a...let's just say...awkward dream involving one of my male friends. It involved a little shankadank-e-doo which, in itself was shocking enough, considering that I've never found him the least bit attractive. And while in this little dream state he was surprisingly talented, (here comes the REALLY shocking part) I fell terribly short in the talent department.

*Gasp*

I know. I know. I'm as shocked as you are.

Obviously this distorted illusion couldn't be further from the truth...I know my business.

*Wink, wink*

I mean, yeah...it's been awhile but it's like riding a bike...you never forget.

Well boys and girls. It's the day after and I'm officially hurtin' like it's nobodies business.

I did make it to the doctor's office long enough for him to rip me off out of $236 (that I couldn't really afford to part with). They refused to use my medical insurance because the problems were accident related. I'll have to wait and receive reimbursement from the other person's insurance company which will take forever I'm sure.

I checked out out just fine...they said I just have the normal bruises and pains so they gave me anti-inflammatories and nice muscle relaxers.

My car is the burgandy Honda sitting off to the right. Poor car. The guy in the red convertible was pissed. He'd JUST gotten the car out of the shop after hitting a deer. Too bad. It was a really nice car. If you look real close at the top picture (off to the right-next to my car) you'll see my sweet little sister Katie taking pictures of the accident for me. Such a helpful girl!

By Surprise

When you're minding your own business and trying to lay low, Life has a way of speeding in and crashing right into you.

Literally.

For me, Life took the form of a red Mustang Cobra and a little blue Nissan. While sitting quietly in a parkinglot waiting to turn, Life's idea of an introduction consisted of smashing into the driver's side of my car and shoving it backwards 8 feet.

I'm thinking I probably would have preferred a nice handshake and 'how do you do' instead.

Fortunately I have nothing more than a few aches and pains to remember my meeting by. Ask me again in the morning and we'll see if anything new arises.

Bad Bad Ring

After the elevator incident, I should have called it a day. But no...I decided to make a pit stop at the mall, during which I paused to try on a few rings. Turns out...that was a mistake. I started the slide the ring off when, to my dismay, it refused to budge causing an immediate flash of panic.

I took a deep breath. Okay Linny...whatever you do, don't panic. You can do this. Just wiggle it around a bit...it'll give.

I twisted, pushed, pulled and yanked to no avail. It wasn't budging. I could feel my cheeks growing hotter as I scanned the store. God this is so embarrassing!

Of course, my first instinct was to play the whole thing off...so I held my hand out pretending to admire the ring when really, my mind was racing a mile a minute. What in the hell could I do to manipulate this thing off my finger?

Butter! I remember a show once where they used butter to slide a ring off someone's finger! Wait...shit...I don't have any butter. Why the hell am I contemplating butter in a department store?!

In an effort to be inconspicuous as I worked, I shuffled over to the clothing section across the way...all the while yanking and pulling at my finger, desperately trying to suppress the anxiety that threatened to boil over. What the hell am I going to do? I can't just walk out with it on my finger!

Growling a string of swear words, I came to the realization that I was going to have to buy the ring that I had grown to hate.

*Sigh*

I pictured having to go to the cashier, my face on fire as I asked her to scan my finger. Oh god, tell me this isn't happening!!!

Just as I reached the verge of a nervous breakdown, I implented my last thing I could think of...spit.

Bingo!

Pride and Elevators

When I stopped by the library to drop off some books Saturday, I noticed they had a big sign outside that said, "Book Sale Downstairs." So I walked through the main foyer over to the open elevator door and breezed in, barely glancing at a sign taped outside of the door.

I settled in and pressed the button for the Basement. Nothing happened. I pressed Basement again...and again, nothing happened. I could feel my face growing red as a few people watched me from the other side of the library. With my dignity on the line, I made a command decision. I pressed the "Close Door" button and figured if it wasn't going to really take me down I could at least hole up for a minute, then hit the "Open Door" button and walk out as I pleased, allowing people to think I'd gone down but returned when I hadn't found what I was looking for.

This seemed brilliant until the doors actually closed and I suddenly remembered the sign outside of the elevator. I had a vague recollection of the words "Don't use" and "Elevator" but damned if I could remember the rest. I closed my eyes and banged my head against the wall. Fuck. What if I'm stuck in this god forsaken box simply because of my pride?

I briefly imagined the beating my dignity was going to take when my rescue by the fire department was broadcast on the five o'clock news. I can just hear the television reporters now, "Ms. Rice, exactly how was it that you came to be stuck in the elevator? Wasn't there a clearly posted sign that read 'Do not use elevator'? Can you read Ms. Rice or were you here for their Adult Literacy Program?"

As a last ditch effort to save what was left of my dignity, I said a quick prayer and once again pressed Basement. It wasn't until the elevator actually dinged and lurched downwards that I realized that I had been holding my breath. Within seconds the car came to a stop and hesitantly opened its doors to reveal the Basement floor. I bolted out of the car and made a mad dash back up through the stairwell. I would be damned if I was getting on that elevator again. I paused outside of the exit and collected myself, then ever so cooly, I walked through the door and past the elevators, allowing myself a good look at the sign which actually read, "Do not use elevators in the event of a fire."

It's That Time Again

Okay, so let's move past yesterday's little post of misery shall we. Every girl is allowed a dark day...that was mine for this month.

All better now.

Here's this week's review.

Review of "The Break UP"

Wallowing

Alone.

It hits home at times like these.

A resounding echo like shouting into the belly of a dark cave where the only voice that answers is your own.

You feel lost as you dig out the picture and clutch it tightly to your chest...the last memory you have of feeling found.

Stupid Assumptions

So the surgery went well. Mom's in a lot of pain but she has her friend, the morphine drip, for company. They've become very close.

Everything was going fine, she was eating her sugar free jello and drinking her chicken broth while we watched Law and Order. Then my Grandfather and his wife arrived. I love my Grandpa and think he bares a strong resemblence to Robert Redford...he's very handsome and we're very close. His wife on the other hand...well...she's a pain in the ass.

When my mom started to dose off, Venie looked over at me and asked the one inevitable question, "So are you datin' any fellas?" I forced a smile, "No, not at the moment, the pickens are slim around here."

Then it happened. She smiled ever so sweetly and said, "Well as long as you don't wind up telling us you swing the other way...."

I threw my hands in the air. It's like what is it with you people?! I said, "You do realize that just because I'm 28 and single does NOT mean I'm gay. It means I'm not stupid enough to land myself in a bad relationship like everyone else in my family." I WAS PISSED. Then she started going on about Chasity Bono and I was so flabbergasted that I completely stopped listening.

This isn't the first time this question has been posed to me simply because I'm single and have been for about a year. Do I need to tattoo it on my forehead? Shit. I'd probably find a better relationship if I WAS a lesbian.

Lost Cause

I'm a lost cause. The weariness has seeped into my bones and now I can't walk...much less think and type. You are reading this post only because I've had a moment of clarity but time is a tickin' and I don't know how the window will last.

I went and saw "The Break Up" this weekend. It was hysterically funny. I LOVED it but I was astonished to see that it is getting nothing but crappy reviews. I guess you actually have to have a sense of humor to enjoy it and most of those critic types have a stick up their ass anyways. I'm a big fan of Vince Vaughn ala "Wedding Crashers" and "Old School"...I think I've even developed a tiny crush on him...humor and a great personality are very sexy. Plus he's really tall and not too thin...I'm all about it.

I promise when the craziness dies down I'll be better at posting and visiting. Work has been so hectic lately and for those of you who don't know, my mom was recently diagnosed with cervical cancer (The main reason I've been so pre-occupied lately) and will be having a hysterectomy tomorrow. Sucks for her. Her surgery is on 6-6-6 at 6am. Geez. Could it get any worse? She said she's going to have to use me to counter it because my birthday is 7-17-77. Seven is supposed to be lucky right? We'll see.

UK Here I Come!

I can't stop smiling!

Ask me why....

Cause I'm going to England baby! It's official...dates have been set, flights reserved. In two months Cathy and I will be crossing the pond...and with any luck, managing a stay in Ireland too. We've been having dreams about Irish men.

So I'm in dire need of an itinerary.

This is where you come in.

Where should we go...what should we do...?

P.S. We're flying into Manchester if that helps.