Ain't Nuthin' Goin' On But the Rent

I gave up take out for lent, so I’ve been cooking a lot lately. Tonight was the first night that I’ve made chicken strips (from scratch) since being w/my ex. Not that is was so painful or anything, just that I’m not big on fried chicken (or fried foods in general), plus it stinks up the house. That last part, the final statement, is something it takes moths to forget. And now, being in an apartment, the “house” is smaller than ever, so I can only imagine that while I did close both closet doors, my clothes will convey “ode au Colonel Sanders”, therefore I will be smelling of chicken strips for the next couple of months, if I’m lucky.

My blogging has ground to a halt as of late, and for that I must blame the job (s) that have been taking up my time. And though I am gone, I hope I’m not forgotten! Latest and the greatest?

I thought I had a cold sore. As many of you know, I briefly dated a man in the late month of Nov, and most of December, and I have now convinced myself that I will soon get a cold sore. Yes, one of my greater fears, that of ORAL HERPES, has darkened my door and I am terrified that it will now strike. Saturday I felt a tiny bump right above the top of my lip on the left side. Since I’m still dealing w/stress acne due to my job, I initially thought “ZIT LIP! EWWWW!” and then the sinister voice inside my head halted all rational thought, and I was presented with the notion of the dreaded cold sore. Yes, yes, I know- most everyone had them when they were kids, blah blah blah…. But I’ve never had one. And in college I knew girls who did have them. Not only were they not of the “prudent and judicious” sort, but watching them brave through weeks of scabby lips made me realize very quickly that the heady powers of wielding your feminine wiles over an interested gentleman was just not worth catching an incurable virus that would plague you for the rest of your days. And so, this lead me to making a $15.00 purchase of Abreva today, despite the fact that this bump cannot be seen without the aid of 5X magnifying mirror, and a direct light source. A dear friend of mine called me and assured me that since it never tingled, and the fact that I only feel it when I’m poking/prodding, it is more than likely not a cold sore. Whatever…the generous applications of Abreva and fretting continue. And it has been a few days since, and I’ve since realized that I should have forgone the fifteen dollar investment in Abreva and simply plunked down three bucks for some Clearasil.

And some other things that have bothered me:
KFC Commercial. Not to make any wide-cast stereotypical observations about the kind of family that crowds around a bucket of chicken for a special meal, but only saying that even if there are teenagers out there able to cast dubious remarks about their father’s involvement with a “real band”, I can only hope that any teenager’s quip demanding to know if their mother was a groupie would not be met with a head tilt and a smile. Yes, a childless woman growing up in the 80’s with a strictest of patriarchs (cannot go shoeless, no talking at the dinner table-if you’ve never procreated, and may God help you if you utter the word “shut-up”), is just incapable of imagining a world where this is a delightfully charming slice of Americana.

I had a date with a blind guy. I went to a training session for my job, and I met someone I had gone to A&M with, lo those many years ago. And he’s smart. He’s now in grad school, not too conservative, and his folks are still married. (each fact earning him a grace point), and so the other day we went out for lunch. Weeeelll, maybe I should divulge a bit more. I agreed to read and record some chapters for him, b/c many of his textbooks are not in Braille, and I have actually done this before. So we’ve met quite a few times and had many good conversations in the process. This did not prepare me for the two facts that have halted this prospect in his tracks. And before I list these reasons, I must preface it with this fact: I can be one prissy bitch.

1. We were having lunch, and though we’d been speaking, regularly and in person for three weeks prior, I suddenly-and only while ingesting foodstuffs-freaked out about the fact that he does not cover his eyes and there is a milky white film and accompanying discharge (not much, but it’s there!) over his eyes. I had to stop looking at him during conversation in order to finish my lunch.

2. During these conversations I had casually noticed that there were a few times when his breath was not on par. But I just kind of explained these times away with “cotton mouth”, or “kitten’s breath”. On that final day I learned that this gentleman has halitosis. I have learned the following: I am a dick who cannot accept all the wonderful things a man has to offer, if a little something like stinky breath will get in the way.

Sharing. Growing. Learning (Well…two out three ain’t bad)

Another One Bites the Dust

So the saga of the web hottie has come to a close. We finally met Thursday and he hasn’t called me since. In the interest of not bashing myself over the sharp rocks of my own self-hatred, I’m going to try to see the positive aspects. Y’know, this whole time I’ve just thought to myself “Your size makes men uncomfortable, and it’s just these shallow guys who have the problem.” NIEN! These last few guys were well aware of my chubbies, even to the point of celebrating chunky monkies such as myself- this last one even saw pictures of me BEFORE he drove down to Houston just to have lunch with me- and I STILL couldn’t bag a dude. Oh yeah…positive stuff about this…right. Well, it’s just that I need to stop focusing on this size issue and start figuring out how the hell I can get men to fall in serious like with me over the freakin’ phone, but when I try to seal the deal in person, it’s a no-go. I mean, I don’t have any overt problems getting to know people. In my line of work I’ve found that my personality actually goes quite a long way in terms of getting tasks accomplished by people whose job description does not include “help out the Scholarship Office”, and I’d like to think this is because I’m affable, fun-loving, down to earth, and just an all around hop-hop-happy woman. And yet! Shut down by men who liked me on the phone, then not so much in person. I’ve got some theories. Wanna here ‘em, here they go:

1. I’m not good at flirting. I’d say that out of the last 20 guys I’ve been attracted to, I let that fact be known to exactly none of them. Just not good at that aspect of the dating thing.
2. I’m not dumbing myself down for ANYONE! And if you’re the type of guy who’s got an ego made of spun glass, then buy a blow-up doll, shove a tape player up her ass, and play affirmations from Stuart Smalley until you feel like a man.
3. I don't "need" a man, and I think it shows. You see, in my little fucked up corner of the world, it is a compliment for a man to know that I can take care of myself in most every way, so the fact that I'm willingly taking care of their needs in addition to mine, means that I have such an affinity for them that they must be of a very specific and special calibur in general. Sadly, men do not see this as a compliment, but as a sticking point. (How do I even BEGIN to change that?)
4. I like to listen-I am a listener, and I like to learn, so details of anything from the stock market to taxonomy (and anything in between!), will be met with looks of interest and attentive questions. I can do this ALL NIGHT if you let me because the more you talk, the less I have to divulge about myself. Not sure if this is a bad thing, just thought you should know….

Whatever. I’ve been “trying” for about 3 months now and I think this experiment is done. I got my heart stomped on in December (when I’m at my most emotionally precarious), and now I’ve been royally dissed, yet once again, by the lowest blow imaginable. No really! You meet someone cold and you go in knowing there is a small chance sparks will fly. You talk to someone every day for 3 months and get to know them decently well, have them meet you, THEN decide you’re bad news. Try to brush your teeth and not second-guess your reflection with every stroke. Sighhhh…. I’m a tough gal and all, but even this hard-hearted lass with a brain in her head, a laugh in her heart, empathy in her soul (who’s not looking for some meal ticket I might add!), and some viable eggs in her ovaries is getting wary of the world.

Though I’m sure my romantic woes are interesting enough, I should move on. I believe I’ve solved my Superbowl dilemma. Instead of traveling to S.A. (gas+drinks), or going to a bar (drinks+appys), I’ve decided to watch the game in the comfort of my own postage stamp. That’s right, I was set back about $30 by purchasing the following:
Beer
Olives
Cheese
Crab salad
Baguette

And now Superbowl XLII is ON for the Aimster! It won’t be all that it could be, but it’ll be enough. Well, bedtime is early tonight b/c I have to open fed. letters tomorrow at 6am.
Life is good! (No really!) And any male with a working recollection of their initial thoughts upon meeting me are more than welcome to respond in order so that I may more ably see how I'm fucking this new guy thing up! (I won't be defensive, I just really want to know how I come off.) No really! You have my word: no repurcussions for telling me off! :-)

Almost forgot: My friend Jana’s got a theory that this last one didn’t work out b/c he's shallow, into thickies, and just didn't think I was fat enough. Thanks Jana. You rock.