January 2009

Nicknames are a lot more fun than real names.

The super nice guy I met last month and went on 2 dates with only to realize I just wanted to be friends became Mr Flowers. He sent me flowers that’s why. So the nicknames are efficient for chatting with friends. His name was Jeff. A fine name, but Who? It tells us nothing about who he was. Mr Flowers sounds nice, just like he is.

There was Lobster Claws, a first date that tried to win me over by saying “I was married 20 years, but the last 10 were miserable.” Then tried to grab my face and smooch me in front of the Shoe Pavilion. I think a handshake would have been plenty.

And let’s not forget Mr Magoo. I actually liked him a lot. Even after he ran out of gas two times in 4 months. Then asked to borrow money. Couldn’t remember anything. He even forgot that he wasn’t really divorced.

Oh and Fingernails was a good name. Funny guy with weird shaped nails. Great on paper. Weird in real life. He was fun to talk about, everyone just liked saying the name “Fingernails.”

Hey, it’s not just me, my guy friend likes nicknames too. His last bad date was “Stripper tits” I will just have to take his word on that.

That evil 7 pounds was hovering, just waiting to jump back on. A few santa cookies and party drinks was all it took. Well ok, there was the ever so brief vacation from exercise I allowed myself. I just wanted a real holiday break. From going without and running five nites a week. Now I’m just one more fatty, trying to ditch the pecan pie pounds.

Whether it’s 7 pounds or 70, almost everyone I know struggles with keeping weight off. And it only gets harder. In my twenties I could skip a meal and lose a size. Now it feels like it might take months to get rid of a few extra desserts. Which all seemed so worth it at the time. The brownies…red wine…oh and the mexican food.

New year, same old struggle.

And only a real friend would tell you something so harsh but true.

Thanks again Greys Anatomy, where I learn all my big life lessons.

Back in September I wrote a bitchy little something about Ashley Madison, the skanky site for married cheaters.

And today, I got invited to appear on Dr Phil, to talk about the site. I had signed up so I could check it out and within the first day I had 47 propositions, some guys were really anxious to cheat with me without any real details. When you’re cheating, it’s no photos, no wittty repartee needed. And after showering, twice, I closed my account.

So here’s the email I got today:

The Dr. Phil show is interested in doing a segment on how the economic downturn has resulted in couples choosing to stay in a rocky marriage because they can’t afford to get a divorce.
As a result many of these unhappily married people are choosing to have discreet relationships on AshleyMadison.com

They are interested in having me, President of AshleyMadison.com, on their show along with a few members willing to share their stories.

Oh how I wish I could go on and just be honest about how I really feel.
 

I love to bake and knit. And the homemade crafty stuff is so much fun to give. That’s right, I’m good for lots more than just funny shit.

A good friend Jen, taught me to knit a few years ago. I knitted up a storm, then forgot all about it. My sister politely brought it up recently, her baby is due next month. Her could be a girl, could be a boy baby, needed hat and booties I decided. It took 2 days to relearn and I won’t say how many hours to finish.

Am taking up crochet next, right Julie? Heard a blankie is much faster that way. Just get yourself knocked up and I’ll make you one too.

Cosmetics counter dilemma: I want the 14$ concealer I came in for but what about the $42 eye cream? A year ago I might have been embarrassed to say NO. But I looked around and felt the collective support of my fellow shoppers as I proudly said “Not right now, I can’t afford it.” Suze Orman would have been so damn proud.

Hallefuckinlujah! Being careful with our money is now so cool, it even has a name, “Recessionista.” And I’m definitely okay with the spending less and living within our means. I never did relate to all the credit card chargers. Of course I feel awful for those truly suffering, and that it’s all been at such an extreme. 

Me and my savings, living happily ever after together, for now anyway.

If only I had a martini for every time I’ve heard “you’re a really funny girl.” And it is my most favorite compliment. But how far has it gotten me really.

A few days ago I visit my friend Terry, recovering from breast cancer surgery. Her mom’s staying with her, so she’s always there when we chat. Laughs at all my goofy stories, usually about dating yes, or she might think I’m just nuts. Then after the visit Terry sent me the sweetest email, seems her mom gets a kick out of my stories, well who doesn’t, and thinks I should have a TV show. She suggests “The View.”

I can out-funny that Whoopi or perky little Republican, Elizabeth any day. But I’m guessing they don’t let just anybody on there. So I have a plan to start small. Gain a following somewhere easy on one of those cheesy morning shows. I could be discovered, then a show way better than “The View” would be happy to have me. And hopefully we’d shoot at night cause I’m not really a morning person.

Maybe it’s the water. Or the botox. But some of the guys I’ve met lately, grown-ups, men my age, seem to be stuck in some weird career twilight zone. And sure, LA is a place open for reinventing yourself, trying new things and expanding horizons. That’s part of what made me want to move here twelve years ago.

But I have a real job, that I even like, so my man should too. Is that crazy to want a partner who works and might make a dollar more than me? And of course it’s about more than just money. I ain’t gonna be nobodies life coach. At what age are some of these bumblers gonna get it together? I went to college in Austin surrounded by some of the cutest, poorest musicians there were. It was charming in our twenties. But WAKE-UP scruffies, you’re not 25, or even 35 anymore.

I call it being underemployed, and it’s like pot. It’s just so fucking high school.

Last weeks dreamer said he was “in the music industry.” Guess what he actually did for a living? He gave private guitar lessons to kids. Drives around and teaches rich kids music. But it’s working out since he makes some great connections with their parents, because he really wants to compose or produce. Don’t we all. I’m sorry, I’m just not attracted to that guy. When he called for a second date I was honest and said I felt there wasn’t any chemistry. He actually challenged me and asked if I had ever had it on a very first date. Well YES you sad little misrepresenter I have. But I was trying to be polite. I really wanted to tell him, I just don’t see myself naked on top of you, EVER.

Here are just a few of the LA embellishments I’ve heard lately:

“I produce tv” meant I was responsible for that reality piece of shit called Armed And Famous but I haven’t worked since.

“I’m into photography” also means I had a camera as a kid and used it once.

“I’m an actor” well, I think we all know what that means. And I just don’t make enough to support both of us until he lands a gig.

“I develop real estate” is secret code for I paint houses.

“I just released a CD” means I just released a CD, now I’m exhausted and need a break.

And now I’m exhausted and need a break. But only until my next date, a good story I’m sure.