once more into the breach!

Oh god. Went out with MoL, The Fraulein, and the Multicultural Spitfire last night. MoL cooked Thai - some red curry. It was great. None of it appeared to come out of a Ragu jar or can of Progresso soup. If any of my female friends out there care, MoL is single, well-educated, knows how to dress and is straight. He can also cook. And to my knowledge does not have a gas problem.

However, the mixture of vanilla vodka, red wine, and beer was a rather toxic combination for my digestive system. When my landlords offered me a glass of wine while we were handing out candy tonight, I got all woozy.

I think I got hit on at Saint Ex. I was really tired at that point and kinda blew the poor chap off. He was kind enough to remove the toilet paper from the bottom of my shoe. The Fraulein and TMS went as cheerleaders and they were (deserving) recipients of healthy male attention. MoL went as Adam Ant. It was HOT. I went as my 15 year old self. It was NOT hot. But it was funny.

And I think I have another date tomorrow night with the guy I was with when I got robbed last week. Hopefully no drama will ensue.

cursed. really effing cursed.

My mom thinks I should stop dating altogether. She'd feel better knowing that I just go to work and then straight home. While it's still light out. While carrying a bat or a golf club for protection.

While the Cards were letting the Red Sox take what little pride they had left tonight, I was robbed. While on a date. Most. Exciting. Date. Ever.

Thankfully, nobody was hurt, and my handbag was recovered intact. After having a little dinner at Cafe Saint Ex, my date and I headed over to Local 16 for a drink. I put my handbag on top of my feet at the bar and got engrossed in conversation (which was great, might I add) and the world's worst World Series on the tv. Next thing I know, my bag is gone and this homeless-looking dude next to me is stuffing something into his backpack.

Well, my instinct said, "this guy took your bag". My date teased me afterwards - he insists it wasn't any stretch of the imagination; the guy never ordered a drink, looked out of place (i.e. homeless) and stayed mostly hunched over shuffling the contents of his backpack. I maintain that my gut told me that this was the perp (look at me using the law enforcement lingo!).

After confronting him, chasing him down and having the Local 16 bar staff and my date corner him, we finally got my hand bag and the Metro police arrested the guy. Then, I got to go across the street and give a statement to the detectives! I so love law enforcement. All the uniforms and attitude and carrying of firearms. Seriously, I love those guys! I'm all about Law and Order and CSI and Third Watch.

Funny aside - my date tried to kiss me at the bar, and I totally rebuffed him. We've decided this was kismet - otherwise I might never have noticed that my handbag was missing. I'd also like to add that this guy is definitely over 6'0" (he says 6'4", but I'm not keeping track if he's still towering over me and I'm in heels), and he says that he does not have a gas problem or a shoe fetish. Fortunately for him, I've set the bar pretty low so he's golden. He was also a total trooper throughout the robbery drama. I kissed him right before heading home in the cab, and hopefully he'll go out with me again. But this time, no drama. Pleasepleaseplease, no more drama.

go cards!

St. Louis if off to a shaky start, but they are 6-0 at home in the post-season, and they play the next three games at home. I also believe in Baseball Jesus...

freaking hindsight

Once upon a time, I had a Frankie Say Relax t shirt. It came down to my knees. Where this t shirt went I haven't the faintest. All I know is that I haven't seen it since my junior or senior year of high school. This seems odd - surely I would have kept it around to sleep in or something.

I don't recall Sister of Whiskypants stealing it, and the Momster does not recall (shocker) giving it away...

The Momster also does not recall the existence of any of those little pins that I'd wear on my jean jacket back when I was in 7th grade. I mean my Police pin, my many Duran Duran pins...

This is all very mysterious and troubling. You see, I've decided to dress as my teenaged self for Halloween. I believe the absurdity of the idea will be lessened by drinking, though. And by the wearing of much lavender eyeshadow and lipsmackers. I might need a few in me in order to peg my jeans, but I did manage to locate a Duran Duranesque hat.

The Multicultural Spitfire has dreamed of being (as opposed to dressing as) Siouxsie Sioux, and she might just realize her dream this weekend. We're gonna hit the costume shop tomorrow, and I might need to hit a teenybopper accessory store for the requisite black rubber bracelets and awful 80's jewelry. I have no idea where to go look for a proper 80's t-shirt. I either need a Rio tee, a Frankie tee, or a Culture Club tee... My Thompson Twins tee is in the possession of my sister and it is nearly threadbare. (I'm in awe of how much money I could have made off my 80's threads if it all had not been given away... I had a serious Esprit habit back then.)

Our friend, MoL, has offered to make us dinner (Thai - which I hope does not come from a Progresso soup can/bottle of Ragu) and he lives just up the street from the Black Cat, where we hope to not make total asses of ourselves at their Brit pop/costume thingy. No news yet on the Fraulein's attire... But I think the MoL should consider going as Adam Ant.

my first big dance

I can't even remember my very first baseball game - all I know is that I've been going to games since I was knee-high. As a native St. Louisian, my allegiance has always been with the Cards. The concept of becoming an Ex-Expos fan is nearly incomprehensible.

My dad had season tickets till he retired a few years ago. Those seats were amazing. Right behind home plate on the very first tier above the field. Fourth row back. We knew all our neighbors.

But in 1982, I remember sitting all the way out in center field for the World Series. My sister and I alternated going to the home games with my dad, and it was a damn cold WS. I have a signed baseball from that season - Lonnie Smith, Ken Oberkfell, and some other guy... I wonder where that ball went? My dad was going through a particularly non-politically correct time where the phrase "base-a-ball been berry berry good to me" cracked him up pretty regularly. Beers didn't cost $7.50 each and parking didn't cost $14.00. Ozzie Smith could still execute backflips without freaking out management.

I can still smell the nachos and the peanuts. I can feel the crowd's crazy happy excitement. I remember exactly how cold I was. My dad was still funny to me since I was still a rather dorky little 12 year old, so we had a ball. And when St. Louis beat Milwaukee, well, it was simply magic. I'd give my eye teeth for an opportunity to take my dad to see the Cards play the Red Sox.

I've been really lucky. Dad - oh - and the Cardinals - have taken me to two World Series and a pennant. I can't adequately describe the frenzied build-up and state of grace simultaneously experienced, but I can tell you that there's nothing like your first.

tra la la la la la la!

Just got back from a lovely evening with The Maestro. Our birthdays are a week apart, so we had some dinner, some wine, watched The Wire on HBO and messed around. Best. Birthday. Ever.

I've been drawn into the ongoing drama that is the Red Sox, thanks to The Bunny and Foxy. They're tied with the Yanks right now and it's a nailbiter! Seriously, every Red Sox fan at that game is on the edge of their seat and chewing their fingers into little bloody nubs. My stomach is in knots. I'm at the point where I'm more excited about what happens to Boston than to the Cardinals, and that's so not right.

On a whole 'nother note... Online dating continues to be a very quirky thing that fills me with mirth and occasional bile. Today, this fuckwit that I went out with last November sent me a message via the online dating service. The subject line read, "we never" and the body of the message read, "DID MEET DID WE?" This shining example of excrement took me out on a date, was all over me, followed up nicely via email, and then flaked on the second date. On top of that, we had an aquaintance in common (and had discussed said aquaintance in conjunction with his love for martial arts) and she had gone as far to warn me about this guy having some "issues".

So, here's another cardinal rule for all singletons out there:

3. Don't be an ass-hat. If you're such a whore that you can't recall who you've molested month to month then f*$#ing keep records of who you gone out with. Sheeze.

Finally, I've been trying to come up with a name for our friend who has recently returned to the area. He's a man of leisure at the moment. Says he's kinda half-assed looking for a job and has been concentrating mostly on going to the gym and being social. Dude, you are living the life I've always wanted. If you weren't such a great guy I'd so totally hate you. Perhaps "Man o' Leisure" and MoL for short? Sister of whiskypants recommended juxtaposing ramen noodles with Man o' Leisure since said friend has figured out that he could live rather comfortably for at least a couple years, sans employment, on one decent meal a day and ramen noodles: Ramen Leisure. I think this sounds like a disease.

you can live life to the fullest as long as you don't actually talk about it

The Multicultural Spitfire does the best Molly Ringwald (the dance, a la The Breakfast Club) of anyone I know. She hauled it out last night to our delight at the Black Cat's anti-prom. I'd had a couple drinks in me by this point, and was able to keep a beat while not looking completely self-conscious. But TMS totally bailed on me when they played Smokin' in the Boy's Rooom as the last song!

The Fraulein may have had a little luck last night - her aesthetician was there - I've had my hair done by this slacker god too but never hit on him since he's a bit younger. Hope you had fun!

We brought along an old friend of mine who has recently moved back to the area. I haven't determined a suitable nickname for him yet... Anyway, he was game to hang out with three chicks and listen to us dish about men. He asserts that I've lowered the bar too much; my cut off should not be the lack of gas during romantic moments (as opposed to my recent foray with The Fartful Dodger). But that's not the only cut off! I have also drawn the line at the ones that use really tired cliches, such as "I pretty much live life to the fullest."

which is worse?

Okay - which is worse? Having a guy toot while kissing you (like, three times, if you'll recall) or having a guy dump you - on the phone while you're walking home from the metro - after two months of some solid dating?

The Fraulein had this happen to her today. I ache for you, honey.

Yet another cardinal rule has been broken.

1.) You DO NOT pass gas on the fourth date and while you are kissing.

2.) You DO NOT break up with a person over the phone if you have had repeated (more than a couple weeks) carnal knowledge of each other.

I feel better now that I've vented.

Sorry for the recent lack o' blogging. I've had my sister, brother-in-law and precious nephew in town this week. Tonight is their last night here. My nephew pretty much hit the wall on Tuesday - he's hit saturation where anything remotely educational is concerned. And you can forget about Kodak moments; this four-year-old refuses to pose nicely anymore. However, we did get a pretty nice shot of him picking his nose. It will come in handy when he gets older.

As a result, I am in dire need of slightly excessive alcoholic consumption and really excessive use of profanity. The Multicultural Spitfire, the Fraulein and I are going out on Saturday night. To top it off, the Maestro (ref post on July 13 titled, "everyone say hello to salicious...") emailed me today. So at least I've got sin going for me.

school nights and getting older

I turned 34 yesterday. All day long at work (one of our energetic admin's keeps track of all our b-days and takes care of cards and such - which is nice) my colleagues asked me how I would be celebrating. They expected me to go out and tie one on or something. I'm 34, not 24. Plus, I find hangovers quite debilitating.

Some of my friends and readers are serious champs (The Brooklyn Freckler, The Alabama Slama, Bunny - you are my heroes) about going out on school nights. All I needed were copious amounts of sushi and sake (thanks to CamillaParkerBowles and her Bonny Prince Charlie), I was home around 9:30, and this pleased me mightily.

Tonight I'm home, the Cardinals are up by two, I have two warm white chocolate chip cookies and am still content.

thank god we were fully clothed (but i still feel dirty)

My recent decision to keep things "high school" with the most recent candidate (we've been out four times now) has proven to be exceptionally wise.

So, let's describe the candidate: late 30's, bright, all around nice guy. Not bad looking. Lots of personality. Says he's two inches taller than he really is. Gentleman readers - when you are 5'6" and your date is also 5'6", the gig is up. Why do guys lie about something so easily verifiable? His apartment is still rocking the college student look - the sofa has been ravaged by his cat. He has a sort of doofy walk. He has a really nice voice. He has a thing for women in heeled boots. He is serious tightwad. He is a rather clueless sort of bachelor. Some of these things I can deal with.

I cannot deal with excessive unapologetic gas.

So, he invites me over for dinner - and he has gone on and on about he he can cook well. Oh lordy. So, I bring a loaf of bread and some wine. The best part of the meal? The bread and the wine. First course consists of a bowl of Progresso's minestrone soup. The main course? Penne pasta served with Ragu's meat sauce. He did not appear to have added any spices to the sauce, but did add some vegetable crumbles and fresh broccoli and a little parmesan. I'm thinking, "Poor guy! He has no clue!" At this point, I'm thinking that it's sad, but not a complete turn-off.

Oh wait. Did I mention that he doesn't have any wine glasses? The previous time I had visited him we drank wine out of coffee mugs. So, I picked up a couple wine glasses before I went over and left them there. How cheap do you have to be to not even have a couple juice glasses to serve wine in to your guests?

Anyway, after dinner we take our wine glasses and head over to the shredded couch to chat. I'm focusing on how nice his voice is. And I don't notice the doofy walk when he's seated. Good stuff. Conversation flows well and he leans in for a kiss. The kisses are nice and then, all of a sudden, bbbbrrraaapppppp! He toots. Big time.

The embarrassing moment passes (hee hee) quickly. I recover. He recovers. He leans in again. Kisses me a little longer. And then, BBBBBBBrrrrrrraaaappppp!!!! BBBBBRRRRAaaaaappppp! I cover my face. "Dude, that's a total mood killer," I say. "Eat Tums for candy or something. But when you need to do that, go into another room."

He seems a bit embarrassed. Makes some sort of crack about how that's just something about him that I'd have to deal with. That his cooking does it to him. And then he lights a match.

"So, I gotta go."

He walks me to my car, and he's nervous. I let him kiss me goodnight (I was still in shock).

As I drive home I realize that I need to take a vacation from dating. Go on hiatus. Take a sabbatical.

At least for the next couple weeks.

setting the scene

Since I've taken an ambien, I'm not gonna attempt to post my most recent dating foible. Let's just say that the story has elicited different reactions from my friends and family. One colleague found herself blushing in a bit of sympathetic embarrassment (oh - not mine, mind you). On the other end of the spectrum, I had my mom laughing harder than she had in a long while.

I'm not sure this is a tale of woe, slapstick comedy, star-crossed romance or all three.

I just want to prepare you all for what I hope to be a truly worthwhile posting, as I plan to sit down with a wee bit o' dalwhinnie tomorrow evening to describe the event in all it's sadness/madness/hilarity. So stand at the ready!