Now Accepting Applications

Short term goal: Get myself one of those 'boyfriend' things I have been hearing so much about.
What? Like it's hard? (That's what she said) ppsshhhhh.
I think it's time. If not, I'm going to end up an old spinster (I have been having a surprising affection towards cats lately).
If it goes badly, I can chalk it up to a). practice, or b). good blog material.
I'm afraid that my blog readers are being deprived. I have not been on a date in quite some time, and we all know that whenever I do go on one next, I will most likely do something awkward and/or super embarrassing. But we also know that this means- blog potential!
Also, who am I to be depriving all these potential suitors the awesomeness that is me? The fact that I have been so anti-commitment for so long is just plain selfish. My apologies, boys. You don't know what you are missing. I blame myself.
So, for the next few weeks (months? Hmm...I don't know about that), I will not say 'no' (not like that, you sickos). I have been told that I am too picky, therefore, from now until I decide I'm over it, anyone who asks me out will receive an enthusiastic 'yes!' After all, I am doing this purely for the readers and the poor boys who have been lacking that awesomeness in their lives. I mean, I'm just trying to make this world a better place. You're welcome.

I Swear to Baby Jesus This Really Happened!

Some of you may wonder why I freak out about my age and have coined this stage of my life my "quarter-life crisis." Well, among many other things, it is because of scenarios such as this one...

One sunny afternoon on a lovely spring day, I decided to take Steve and Dave to the park. Being the lazy-ass that I am, I didn't want to walk too far, so I took them down to Mount Rose Elementary School. Then they could run off-leash and I could slowly meander around (Dave also likes to go on the playground equipment, it's adorable). As I was praising Dave for sliding down the big slide, two girls, probably about 10 years old, walk up and ask if they can pet the dogs.

Of course, of course.

As they are playing with the dogs, I am chatting away with them (if you know me, this is not surprising in the least). In attempts to make conversation with 10 year-olds, I ask, "Do you two go to Mount Rose?"

"Yeah! We do!" They responded.

"Oh, cool! I used to go here too!" I said.

They turn and look at each other, and I swear to God, they turned back to me and perfectly innocently, exclaimed, "Wow! This school is OLD!"

Sweet baby Jesus, those young whipper-snappers needed a ruler to the knuckels. I was twenty-five at the time of this devastating conversation, but you would have thought that I was wearing bifocals, dentures, and using my tennis ball walker. I'm not one to get angry with youngins, but I was ready to take those leashes out of my fanny-pack, round up the dogs, hobble out of that elementary school playground, and screech out of there in my gold Cadillac.

But last time I got angry and stormed off, I nearly broke my gosh-darned hip!