What's your Sign?

I was at the cupcake shop this week with some friends (of course now that I’ve typed this up I just want more cupcakes…hmmm…) and one of them spotted a reasonably attractive guy at the front of the line.  At this point both of them started gesturing emphatically for me to approach said guy in some capacity and kept reiterating in not-so-indoor voices, “Go get him!”  The other maneuvered around to determine that the guy was not wearing a wedding ring, and once that was confirmed they became even more determined in their commands.  I almost started inching towards him, but I couldn’t think what the hell I would say to him.  This was definitely not an optimal situation in which to strike up a casual conversation.  First of all, the people between us in line would surely think I was trying to hop the queue and given the deliciousness of these particular cupcakes, would possibly beat me to death with their purses.  But let’s brush that aside and say I momentarily took leave of my senses.  What in the hell would I say to him when I got up there: “nice cupcakes!”, “what flavor did you get?”, “can I buy those for you or reimburse you as you have already paid?”  Or if I was feeling more brazen, “what kind of cupcakes did you buy me?” or even “those will taste really delicious after you take me out for a drink.”

Those all kinda fell flat but it made me think about the lack of general pick-up lines in my repertoire.  I haven’t been on the dating scene in a few months now and even when I was, it was mostly online and the guys tended to make all the cheesy moves.  I’ve never been really sure about how to approach a guy in real life.  Some people say women don’t need lines, that all they need to do is make it clear that they are interested and guys will be tripping over their feet to lavish them with attention.  I’ve found that line of reasoning to be a pile of crap so I think I need to develop some go to lines in case I find myself in a situation where there is a prospective gentleman that I want to woo. 

Years and years ago, I came up with lines for me and a few other friends but for the life of me now I can’t remember them.  Well, that’s not entirely true, I do remember the line I came up with for a friend that is blessed in the ta-ta department.  I said she should just sidle up to a guy, look him directly in the eyes and say, “So (dramatic pause), do you want to see the goods?” Strangely enough, we could never get those words out of our mouths without bursting into fits of hysterical laughter.  My line was one that I thought up applied only if I ever met a jockey, and although I really can’t remember it now, that is probably for the best as I think it was more than a little off-color. 

Earlier in the month, the same friend from the cupcake shop wanted to take a road trip to some town on the Eastern shore that contained the hot fisherman featured in a photograph in the newspaper.  We decided that as I approached said fisherman, I should try something like “I don’t know what type of bait you’re using, but you caught me!” But again, the likelihood that I could deliver that line without my ears turning bright red and basically sputtering in laughter are pretty slim.

So for realsies, I need some lines for actual situations that I could find myself in.  Like at the gym – what would I say to the cute guy on the treadmill next to me?  “Wow, you’re really sweaty!” or “Don’t worry, I’m not actually going to pass out.  It just looks like that when I run.” And what about the grocery store, if I see a guy I want to introduce myself to, what would be a good line to open up with?  Should I pretend I need something from a high shelf and ask him to help me reach it?  Should I pretend I don’t know how to cook and ask him what I should do with those parsnips? Or on the rare times when I actually go to a bar and see a guy who appears single and with whom I’d like to mingle, should I really use the old standby, “Come here often?” or  should I try to buy him a drink?  Help me out, people.  Who knows what the hell I’ll come up with on my own since I once went up to a guy I liked (granted this was in elementary school) and told him that for someone who was that short, he really had big feet.  Save me from myself, dear readers and help me come up with some viable lines that would have a guy actually interested in talking to me rather than running away at high speeds.

Love Hurts

Tuesday night I drove to Arlington to meet some friends as we said goodbye to a friend and his wife who were getting ready to move out of the country for a few years.  I had thought his wife, originally from Germany with most of her family still living there, would be excited to return to her homeland, but she really wasn’t that stoked.  She’s leaving the home she had built in that island paradise of Hawaii, a career that she enjoyed, and moving without knowing where or even if she was going to find a job, a place to live, or a plan for what happens next all because her husband had a great opportunity and really wanted to go.

With an intro like that, you’re probably thinking that this blog is going to be all about the things that people are willing to give up for love.  But since this is my blog, it’s actually about what happened before I made it to that dinner.  I have said in previous posts that I was so over DW it wasn’t funny.  Well, sadly I have proven that untrue as the mere mention of his name and wonderfulness by a neighbor riled me up so much that I twisted my ankle and busted my knee. 

Rewind to Tuesday post work.  I hauled butt home to walk my faithful canine before driving across town to say goodbye.  Just a block from my home I see a neighbor with a new dog.  I didn’t know her too well – she lives on the other side of DW and she and I had never really talked too much.  But she was nervous about her new dog, and seemed anxious to chat.  So we let our dogs meet each other and they got along really well, so well in fact that she felt she had to comment about how embarrassed she was as her dog had not liked DW’s dog and had in fact snapped at him, and wasn’t that horrible as DW is just the nicest guy ever, don’t I agree? GAH!!! She literally went on and on about what a great guy he is, and how fantastic his dog is, yadda yadda.  And I found myself agreeing with her and then getting a little melancholy about why he has now decided to seemingly ignore me and pretend that we never hung out or went on our was-it-a-date-or-was-it-not-a-date.

After leaving her, I was muttering somewhat angrily and not paying attention to where I was walking and I tripped on the curb, twisted my left ankle, heard a disturbing snap, and busted open my right knee.  Really not ideal for someone who was attempting to train for a half-marathon and had just found out that she probably has plantar fasciitis in her right foot.  So I hobbled around for the rest of the walk, trying not to bloody up my new dress, hurrying home to ice my ankle, and get out the door before I totally missed the going away dinner. 

But the dinner itself was pretty great.  A little bittersweet as the few of us that gathered together have known each other for a long while but haven’t really spent time with one another for many years and to get together to say goodbye when you’re not sure when you’ll see each other next, is a little sad.  The stories and times we share are wonderful, but in the past.  The memories caramelize and you start thinking of them as the “good ol’ days,” which is totally oversimplifying what happened and the decisions we made.  But it’s nice to stroll down memory lane, even if you’re hobbling a little from all your multiple foot injuries.

I drove home thinking about how our lives had diverged and how everyone had seemed to keep growing and changing, while I felt a little like I was stuck in a repeat episode of some of the less fun times of the Diary of Bridget Jones.   That all changed when I got home to the ecstatic waggingness of my four-legged soulmate.  He was ecstatic to see me even though I had been gone most of the day and was definitely not as mobile as he would have preferred.  When I bent down to hug him, he did that doggy sigh thing, like he was saying, “you are the bestest person ever and I couldn’t be happier.”  So yes, love hurts and crushes bruise, but love also heals and makes you happy to be you, realizing how lucky you are with the love and the life that you have, even if it’s different than what you had planned.

Adrienne, Unplugged

I have not been on a dating website for almost five months.  The signs of withdrawal are slowly subsiding.  No longer do I nervously check my inbox with hope/fear at what awaits.  Almost 150 days have gone by since I last went on an awkward first date with someone I had not seen in real life before that day (see Deal with the Devil for my last online date).  I feel like most of the emotional and mental scars from those horrible dates have started to heal.  Although DW still seems to have fallen into that single guy black hole in his near total avoidance of my gaze, when I occasionally see his car or house out of the corner of my eye, I’m no longer torn by the need to know why he stopped talking to me and the urge to hurl eggs, rocks, or bags of dog poo at him.

To further celebrate my unplugged nature, I recently took my own advice from Lonely Planet and decided to combine my love of travel with my love of family, dogs, hiking, and beverages by totally unplugging and joining my uncle and cousins in West Virginia for a long weekend.  Of course, it would turn out to be the hottest weekend of all time and I would be heading to the land of no central air.  But if you’re not going to go big, you might as well go home so I dove into the experience.

First of all, you know it’s a good time if you get to stand outside wearing a headlamp and drinking a beer while dogs run around you, gleeful in their abandon and lack of leash-wearing.  According to the book of Adrienne, it is nearly impossible to wear a headlamp and not have fun.  If you have found yourself in such a situation, you obviously were not with me for the mere act of putting on a headlamp makes me giddy.  Couple that with a slightly humid night with no noise other than the sounds of crickets and my cousins laughing, a few stars poking through the clouds, and a very cold beer and I think you have something close to perfection. 

Secondly, I got to swim with my dog.  Now normally when we go to the cabin, the dogs get to do all the swimming.  But as it was hotter than the hammered down hinges of hell, I broke my rule of letting no human eyes see me in a bathing suit and we all swam with the dogs.  Watching my dog swim is the best.  He loves it.  “Love” is not a strong enough word.  If you looked up the definition of “ecstatic,” it would be a picture of my dog in the water fetching a stick and wagging his soggy tail.  Swimming with him was even better.  I swam out to get the sticks that had gone beyond his reach and he looked almost like he would laugh to see me fetch.  It was also great as my cousin’s dog got to practice saving us whenever any of the humans made the mistake of putting our shoulders below the water.  Note to self, remember that waving your arms and saying “I’m fine, really, fine!” only spurs him on to greater acts of heroism.

Third, I get to be as goofy as I want around these people.  They’re family, so they’re a little nutty themselves and appreciate my special brand of lunacy.  I get to practice my loon calls, make up and sing songs at the top of my lungs about the cooking show I want my uncle to start so that I can meet and marry Paula Deen’s single son (trust me – there’s a well-developed plan there…ok probably not well-developed, but there is a plan), drink well before 5pm, geocache in the mountains and on the side of country roads, sing along to John Denver outside of the 7^th Inning Stretch, wear my hair in pigtails, get entirely too dirty and not care, see my dog chase his friends all throughout the woods, attempt to run myself (nowhere near as fun or pretty but I did it!), eat homemade mint chocolate chip ice cream my cousin made especially for me (even better when served for breakfast), and make blueberry pancakes the size of my face for all my family. 

Unfortunately it’s not the most restful of va-cays as every time the dogs hear something outside, they all start barking.  Plus they love to get up well before 6am.  But most days, it is totally relaxing just to chill.  Not to text or wait for a text.  To let all the news just happen without knowing how each pundit will sell their story.  Cell phones don’t work there.  The TV is mainly used for my cousin to watch John Wayne movies.  There’s even an outhouse from the days when the only running water was the pump outside.  Particularly helpful on the nights when the power goes out and you’ve made good friends with Mr. Daniels or Mr. Walker.

And when it rained, we all took naps.  Even the dogs managed to sleep a bit without getting amped up at all the sounds outside.  I’m pretty sure that the cabin is my dog’s favorite place on earth.  Although there is sometimes more family drama than I’d like, I wouldn’t trade those times for anything.  For there is something to be said about sitting on a porch with your family, laughing so hard about some silly joke that you’re almost afraid you’ll pee, hearing the thwap-thwap sound of your dog’s tail.  While it’s sometimes unbearably sad there as we miss my aunt and remember where she’d sit with her coffee and binoculars to watch the birds, and how she’d roll her eyes and say that my loon impression sounded more like the mating call of the bull moose, and how she is to this day the most organized woman I’ve ever known, being there together, even when there are tears and drama, I can hear her laugh and feel her love.

I’m going to try to make it back up there at least one more time this summer.  Again it will probably be the hottest weekend of all time and I doubt I’ll get much sleep.  But as long as I have my Charlie, the fam, plenty of beverages, and of course my trusty headlamp, the heat and the sleeplessness won’t be all that bad.  Air conditioning and restful nights are overrated when there’s the option of laughing yourself silly, praying for a breeze to come, and pressing a can of Bud Lite with Lime against your forehead. 

Fate or Fright?

A very quick post as I am running late as usual.  The incident that happened this week was just too strange not to share.  So do you remember from about a million years ago when I talked about the guy who was a little amorous of his Mercedes? Back in Beware the Ides of March, I told you of when I first joined Mismatch* in spring 2009.  The first guy that contacted me was a guy who let me know repeatedly that he had a very nice car.  In pretty much every email.  And most of his profile pictures.  And for the life of me, I can’t remember if we ever actually met.  This in itself is not that disturbing.  Well, okay, it’s disturbing that I can’t remember if we met but not the semi-obsession with his car is not really that troubling.  In fact, in the grand scheme of the horrible dates I’ve been on, this guy seems like a prince.

Fast forward to Personal Assistant Required, when I complained that I needed a personal assistant to keep track of my dating life.  I had joined another site – Physics* - and was chatted up by a guy who seemed like a great catch. 

His profile was funny and approachable and his pictures showed a cute guy with a variety of interests.  At that point, he seemed a little familiar but I couldn’t put my finger on how I knew him.  At some point though I realized that this guy was the same guy that approached me about a year and a half before and was still a little smitten with his car. 

 

Jump ahead to this past week when I’m innocuously checking my email and discover that this same guy from Mismatch* and from Physics* had sent me a note.  Not just any note, but he responded from the last time that we exchanged personal emails (as opposed to the bizarre conversing that takes place on Physics*) which was March 2009.  Is this fate that I’m actually supposed to meet this guy? Or is it just frightening that he is trying to contact me responding to an email that is 2 years and four months old?  Should I write him back or just pretend I never got the email?  Help me choose my own adventure here, dear readers.  I’m at a loss.

 

*Name has been changed

The Demise of the Dog Whisperer

No, the television show isn’t being cancelled.  I also thought of titling this post “Elvis Has Left the Building” or “I Give Up.”  For those of you who remember back 100 years ago when I first discussed the “Dog Whisperer” aka DW, you may we wondering what happened there.  I know some friends were torn as while they wanted things to work out for me, they also wanted to hear more exciting extreme dating stories.  I hadn’t provided any updates in a while as I didn’t want to jinx it, but from the title you can pretty much see that was all for naught.

For the full story on him, check out Stalking the DogWhisperer and Dorks Anonymous.  But basically, I developed a crazy crush on my neighbor.  Not just any neighbor but a neighbor whose house I can see from my own and so now I can torture myself by knowing if he’s home or not home or if someone is visiting him.  But yes, I developed this crush on DW, so named by my friend when we decided that I needed to ensnare him with my feminine wiles and that this would be known as “Mission: Dog Whisperer.” 

 

First on the agenda was training my dog not to hate his dog.  This took a little bit of work on my part as for some reason my faithful canine couldn’t stand the other dog.  It was insane – I gave mine treats and talked all sweet with him whenever we saw that damn dog and now, my dog thinks this dog is awesome and DW is like a paragon of men.

 

Then I started walking and talking with DW.  Nothing too exciting at first, despite the intrepid maneuvers of my friend who tried to assist me in my quest.  We would just walk around the block together and chat.  And it was great – we talked about everything.  Sometimes when we’d finished our walk we would just chat outside for a while, the dogs eventually laying down they were so tired or whining to go get fed. 

 

Wait, before the walks, there was the winter.  Yes, now I’m remembering correctly.  So in the fall and early winter we’d only chatted a few times but hadn’t really walked together.  Then we had one pretty crazy snow and DW helped me dig out my car and my neighbors.  I decided to thank him by delivering some home-baked chocolate chip cookies to his casa.  He was a little weird when I dropped them off but he later said he had fallen asleep on his couch and was a little out of it then.

 

Then we started walking together.  It was really…what’s the word? It was nice.  It was really nice to walk and chat with him.  And I started to like him even more.  He was in a band and played on a few different sports teams and he was close with his family.  I eventually determined that he didn’t seem to be dating anyone seriously and he talked about a few ex-girlfriends.  Around that point it was spring and I plucked up the courage to ask him if he wanted to sometime check out this restaurant we had been discussing and he said yes.  I was way too over-excited by this.  Especially because I was heading out of town pretty soon after our walk and we didn’t see each other again for a while. 

 

When we did see each other again on another walk, it came up that it had recently been my birthday.  We had been talking about work and I said I had been in training and while it was annoying, at least I got to see some of my old coworkers and friends and have dinner and drinks with them on my birthday.  He wished me a belated happy birthday and said we would have to figure out a time to go out.  Then a few days later, he showed up at my door with brownies.  Home-made crème de menthe brownies.  That he made.  For MY BIRTHDAY!!! I was sooooooo excited.  And they were really good brownies.  He came in and we talked for like two hours. It was awesome.  I was so super sure that he was into me.  Does that seem like a reasonable assumption?  I thought so then but now I don’t think it does.  Sigh.  Anyway, we talked for a long time and then he had to go as he was supposed to have dinner with his parents.  But we decided we would go out for dinner together the following Sunday.  And he even asked for my phone number in case we didn’t run into each other, so that we could figure out our plans.

 

As that Sunday approached, I have to say I became incredibly and insanely nervous.  I honestly don’t remember being as nervous for a date before – if it was a date.  When I hadn’t seen him by that Saturday, I texted him to see if we were still on and we made plans for dinner at 6pm.  I became even more anxious.  I must have tried on a dozen different outfits.  I called a friend and I was nearly hyperventilating I couldn’t figure out what to wear or how to act or anything.  This was highly odd as I have been on way too many dates to behave in this manner.  Usually I have a hard time working up any enthusiasm or sentiment other than certain dread. 

I managed to somehow dress myself and be ready by the time he knocked on my door.  That was when I realized I hadn’t warned him that in addition to my regular dog, I was dog-sitting – so he was a little ill-prepared for the sound of my dog and another very large dog hurtling themselves at the door and barking furiously at him.  I managed to pry them away from the door and fling myself out of it. 

He drove and the ride to the restaurant was a little awkward.  Normally we didn’t have a hard time talking but it was a little quiet.  When we got to the restaurant though, that all changed and it was more like it had been before.  The conversation just felt really easy and fun.  We talked for a while, had some drinks, and dinner and before I knew it, almost three hours had passed.  The bill came and when I reached for it, he brushed me aside and said he would take care of it.  We both said that we had fun and that we should go out again when we were both in town – he was going out of town the following weekend, and I was going on a mini-vacation with my sister and nephews after that.  Then he drove me back home and walked me to my door.

 

Here’s where I became less certain that we were actually on a date.  If you’ve seen my house you know that I have this really weird Charlie Brown type Christmas tree in my front yard, leaning out onto the sidewalk from my terraced garden.  When he walked me to my door he stood away from me with a tree limb in between us, such that if I were to attempt to make a move I would end up jamming a tree branch into my eye socket.  So we just said we had fun and said good night.  I saw him a few minutes later as I took the two beasts out for their last evening stroll and DW was out with his canine.  We chatted again briefly and then called it a night.

 

The next week we walked together again but no mention of the dinner or going out again. It was a pretty short walk though so I tried not to read too much into it.  That weekend he was out of town for most of the weekend and then I left for my vacation.  When I got back, I didn’t really see DW around.  I waited a week and then I decided I would text him to ask him out for that Friday.  He texted back something like “Got plans but thanks for offer” and then he pretty much fell into a black hole.  That was a month ago and I’ve only seen him a handful of times.  I’ve seen him at the gym (of course we go to the same gym – it’s not enough torture to just be able to see his house multiple times a day) and I’m pretty sure that he’s avoiding me.  When I said hi to him yesterday and asked him how he was he kind of brusquely said “good” and strode away. 

 

The result being that now I am torturing myself trying to figure out what the hell happened, or in darker moments asking myself what did I do wrong?  That and contemplating knocking him down and asking him/shouting at him “WHAT THE HELL?!!?!?” or egging his house or letting the air out of his tires. Don’t worry, I’m not actually going to do any of those things.  Mainly because I’m scared of what the answer would be if I did manage to force an answer out of him.  I’m mostly ok about it now except when I see him and it’s all strange and awful.   But it felt horrible the first couple of weeks – I really had allowed myself to hope and believe that this time was going to work out and to have that crushed out of me by my crush feels something akin to heartbreak.  No, I wasn’t in love with him – I recognize that I didn’t really know him all that well.  But I was desperately in love with the idea of just getting to be with someone who was actually nice and attractive and fun and a good, employed, dog-loving guy and who unbelievably seemed to dig me.  And this other thing, the reality of what has happened, just totally sucks. 

 

Thankfully when I was in the depths, I contacted my partner-in-crime in Mission DW and she came to the rescue with intense verbal barrages of his douchebaggery, alcoholic beverages, and sushi.  Plus we replayed the highlights/lowlights for her husband and he confirmed that DW had seemed to lead me on and he was in fact probably an evil bastard.  That helped arrest the spiral of misery before it got too melancholic to survive with any vestiges of dignity or self-respect.

 

Now the problem –other than the fact that DW’s house has not mysteriously been moved to another dimension—is that I don’t think I can bear to get back on those hideous dating sites and put myself out there again.  How much disappointment and insanity can one singleton take before she is put out of her misery?  Besides I’ve been on pretty much all of them at this point and none of them were so awesome as to make me want to run back to them.  For now I have to call it a night as I have to actually get in a real run tomorrow morning.  The dating decision dilemma will have to wait until another day.

I Hate to Run

Those of you who know me well, have heard me say that I will only run if someone is chasing me and only then if I think I can’t fight them.  That coupled with the title of this post will probably make me sound insane for having recently signed up for a half-marathon.

I must admit that when I bought my plane ticket for the race, I was in a bit of an emotional tailspin over the now near certain demise of my dalliance with DW (see Stalking the Dog Whisperer, Dorks Anonymous, and Self-Torture for some of the details).  The details of that will have to wait until next time, but I was not in the best of states when I decided I had to get out of the contiguous United States and run My Very First Race Ever Which Also Happens to be a Half Marathon in Puerto Rico.  It still makes me want to vomit a little thinking about it.  

I may have been seizing my own advice from Lonely Planet in needing to realize the benefits of vacation and travel with some pals, but hope that I didn’t bite off a little more than I could chew.  While it is possible for me to walk part or even all the race, the idea of a HALF MARATHON is a little intimidating – especially when I put it all in caps like that.  I’ve been ‘training’ for a little over a week and am up to 2 miles.  Only 11 more to go.  Holy crap.

But I’m actually kind of excited about it.  Terrified, definitely, but also a little excited.  I never thought I’d even attempt something like this.  I have friends that have done 5k’s left and right, a few that have done some triathlons, and one – the one who is responsible for organizing this particular trip for the half who has done two full-fledged marathons.  When this friend has described her marathons and running habit, it sometimes comes equipped with stories of toenails falling off or sending pictures of horrible cuts on her knees from falling on the side of the road.  That usually prompts me to say this is why I have different hobbies from her, as you rarely hear of yogis losing their toenails.  In less than five months, however,  I’ll be able to nod knowingly as I describe my attempt at the half, what I can only assume will include at least one trip to the side of the road to vomit and probably several times pleading with people to kill me then and there.

In addition to training for the race, I recently braved the running store to get properly outfitted at least in terms of footware.  A complete novice – I was definitely an easy mark for the salespeople, but they resisted pushing anything truly ridiculous on me.  I did run on a treadmill in my bare feet for them to analyze my running form and determine which shoes would work best.  Unfortunately the high octane guy who was waiting on me, was not as speedy as I would have liked and in the desperation of not wanting to be late for my trainer (who I knew would respond sadistically with forced push-ups and planks), I ended up rushing my way through the shoes and purchase of a “VIP” membership for discounts on all my future running purchases.  And to add to the fun, they rang a bell when they rung up my purchase and all of the salespeople applauded me as I ran sheepishly out of the store.  It felt a little silly but also kind of appropriate, like they realized how against the concept of running I have been and what a monumental and extremely bizarre decision this was.

Why do I hate running so much, you might ask?  Well, think about the last time you actually saw someone running (or God forbid, had a mirror put in front of you or a picture snapped when you were at about mile 5 or 10).  They really don’t look happy at all.  At their best you could say runners have a glow about them (the sweat) but most have the air of grim determination about them.  I have not seen myself yet while running but at least one of my gym-mates has asked me in a concerned manner if I was ok, which is never a good sign.  And I have seen myself afterward, and while I do feel pretty good when its done, that is diminished somewhat when I see that my entire face is bright red and looks as if I’ve been wandering lost in the desert of fitness for days on end with none of the benefits of thin thighs or a tight butt.

Speaking of butts, I’m feeling a little self-conscious of mine these days.  This is mainly because the same day I bought my new running shoes, my Trainer felt the need to update me on Calvin’s* affections.  Now Calvin is the same trainer who bizarrely offered me oatmeal a few weeks back (see A Tale of Too Many Trainers).  I foolishly thought his feelings had waned, but my Trainer ruined that illusion.  He decided to wait until I was face down on the hamstring curl machine thingy (that’s its technical name) and tell me that Calvin* had stopped him when he was on his way in to train me and kept pestering him, asking him who he was training next.  This was how my Trainer relayed the conversation:

Calvin*: “Which girl you training next?”

Trainer: “The girl in the pink shirt” (here’s where he explained that he didn’t want to even say my name since that was sure to start Calvin* up)

Calvin*: “Which girl?”

Trainer: “(sigh) That one.  Adrienne”

Calvin*: (pretending he doesn’t know who I am) “Adrienne?  Adrienne?  OH, Adrienne.  With the (grunting sound) padonka donk”

Here’s where my Trainer started cracking up and I started nervously laughing, almost hyperventilating.  For there are fewer positions more vulnerable at the gym than the one I was in at the time.  It was great motivation though to really work out as hard as I could and not delay the process any further.  Yep, I have now been described as having a padonka donk. Clearly I can’t start running fast enough. 

So let’s leave creepy Calvin* and return to my forthcoming trip to Puerto Rico.  I’ve definitely picked a good race to start with as this one comes equipped with stations where us running “divas” will be given feather boas and tiaras.  Few things are better than a tiara.  I have one that I keep in the living room for when I have to do something horrible like clean as it glams up the experience.  If I’m able to finish the race, I’ll also get a diva medal.  And let’s not forget the fact that I’ll be in Puerto Rico!  A few other friends will be joining us for the trip, and one has promised to alternately chase me/run in front of me with a tray of cocktails to “good cop/bad cop” inspire me to finish the race.  And my organizing friend is setting us up with some pampering at her aunt’s spa, we get to meet her family and have some bevvies and good times, and her dad has promised to lead our cheering squad. 

Now if only I could find a way to make a half-marathon something less than 13 miles…

Lonely Planet

I know it’s been like 100 years since I’ve last updated this blog but in addition to me not wanting to talk too much about DW (as its sadly confusing in determining  interest/lack of interest on his part AND I’m still superstitious and not wanting to jinx it in case something does work out), I’ve been on a delightfully wacky and weird vacation.  And the vacation got me to thinking about one of the things that does suck for singletons – traveling alone.  Now there are some of my brave compatriots out there who think nothing of jetting off on their own, to parts unknown and by the time they’re supposed to return they’ll have met friends or even love interests.  I am not that kind of singleton.  I’ve been on one mini-vacation by myself and while parts of it were fun, a lot of it was slightly depressing. 

Now, of course, I did pick one of the major honeymoon destinations for my solitary soiree, so I sort of set myself up for lonely evenings on the beach.  I decided on a work trip to Hawaii, that I would fly out a few days before my conference and travel around Oahu and stay an extra weekend and go to Maui.  The time in Oahu was fabulous as I got to hang with some of my peeps who get to live in tropical paradise, competing with tourists for mike time at the karaoke joints and eating lots of shave ice and mochi.  A couple of friends also flew out early so we drove all over the island and had mini-adventures, including kayaking and snorkeling (unbeknownst to us) in a breeding and feeding ground for hammerhead sharks.  Thankfully I didn’t find out that bit of trivia until I returned home as I had a mini freakout even two weeks after the event.  I probably wouldn’t have even stepped in the bathtub the whole rest of the time I was on island.

After the conference, some of my local pals took me out to lunch and got me a screaming mai tai before my way too short plane ride to Maui (screaming mai tai = 34 oz of rummy goodness).  Somehow I made it to the plane and after a brief nap in my rental car, set off for my tropical digs on Maui.  Now I have to say right now, that not only did I knowingly choose a site preferred by adoring and adorable honeymoon couples but I also made that decision just a few months after being dumped by my boyfriend.  Therefore I should not have been surprised when during only my 2^nd dinner alone, after a few too many tropical bevvies, I had to leave the restaurant before I started hurling my bread basket at the glowingly happy couples.  I did make some wise decisions on that trip – like deciding to take a tour of the island with a group and purposely being as friendly with my fellow tourgoers as was possible without seeming like a crazy lady.

So are the only options available to singletons to stay at home or risk making an ass of yourself singing “All By Myself” at karaoke night at your hotel in Maui?  Of course not!  The key here is to choose your travel partners wisely.  I have been so lucky in this as for it to seem unfair.  First of all, my sister is utterly fantastic.  Yes, she can snore like there is a woodland animal trapped in her nostrils, but she is off the charts on the fun-scale and she puts up with my wackiness and even my sulks (although she did threaten to leave me on an overly long road trip in the South when I lost my marbles over My Very First Speeding Ticket).  We just got back last week from an excellent excursion to Oregon with our wonderful nephews to celebrate their college graduation, and I have to say I don’t think I could have had more fun.   Hiking (I have photographic proof), breweries, waterfalls, beach, bookstores, geocaching, breweries, donuts with Cap’n Crunch on them, Saturday Market, breweries (yes that many of them and one had beer floats with vanilla ice cream in stout), cigars, wonderfully weird Portlandians, and a rental car named Clarence.   My only regret is that we were unable to get on the Cycle Saloon – a glorious contraption where a bartender is in the middle serving you beers and steering said saloon whilst patrons cycle around the city. 

If you are not blessed with fabulous family members to travel with, then you need to get a friend or two, preferably as agreeable as mine are when it comes to hitting the road and seeing some sites.  For a few years, I routinely went to the beach with some dear friends and we had so much fun and did so much sitting on our asses, that it should be illegal.  There were drinks of the day, sitting on the porch, healthful walks, boardwalk fries, and epic bouts of “There’s Your Boyfriend” – a game where every completely suitable man (or statue even) gets claimed for one of you with a shout of “There’s Your Boyfriend!” followed by raucous laughter.  We’ve also done little road trips involving gardens, wine, gambling, historical sites, and mint juleps.  Ah, juleps.  Sigh.

I have another wonderful pal with whom I’ve gone on more long distance va-cays with including Vegas Baby Vegas, New Mexico, and a shorter trip to the spa at Hershey—too  luxurious for words PLUS we got to see the Amish and I am more than mildly obsessed with the Amish (don’t ask – I don’t know why.  I just am.  To the point where I used to go to this dutch farmer’s market and try to look demure so that a young Amish man would take me away from this modern life and let me churn butter to my heart’s content).  And I’m also blessed with friends that although they’ve abandoned me and moved away, I get to go visit them and have plenty of hijinx usually involving mad-capped schemes, beverages, and tons of silliness.

Now at some point, some or even most of your friends will get hitched and/or procreate and while these are certainly joyous events, they might put a crimp on your travel plans.  Some of their spouses might not want them to travel all over the place with you or babies might need tending to and travel plans with those friends might have to be postponed.  Don’t let that keep you at home though as travel is far too fantastic to not try it every chance you get.   Start talking about some of the places you want to visit with your peeps and see who’s interested.  And if that fails, I’ve always got my bag and passport at the ready J