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!

The Female Bachelor (femina singolis)

As I was sitting on my couch in my underwear, eating cold soup from the can, it suddenly occurred to me that this could be part of the reason that I might not be considered "marriage material."

I don't cook. What is the point? An hour of prep and messing up the kitchen, followed by seven minutes of eating and thirty minutes of clean up. I don't think so. Don't waste my time. I ate oatmeal for dinner every day for a week. And do you want to know the worst part? I didn't want to wash the dish (I don't have a dishwasher), so I used the same bowl every time. I can't help but think that this seems like bachelor status...

The female bachelor is a rare occurrence. She can be incredibly hard to spot out in the wild, but once one is familiar with her actions, she is easily noticeable. Not to be confused with a "bachelorette," who is an over-excited, over make-uped party girl, out looking to become a wife, the female bachelor can sometimes be more untame than her male counterpart. This mammal is generally intelligent, colorful, independent and not easy to trap. Her prey includes unattainable males and her predators are usually limited to unmotivated, underachieving douche bags (douchebagia lazyassis).

Most female bachelors (FB) are very set in their ways. The very thought of having a mate could send them into hiding. From one standpoint they are very organized, having a busy work schedule and social life. Most own a day planner that can be found filled with meetings and appointments, and seemingly little time for much else. They keep up their appearance in the outdoors, but while safe away in their natural habitat, they can become something completely different.

The home of a FB, when invited, is immaculate, yet only to the untrained eye. But let's take a look further. What hides behind those closet doors? And those decorative bins that are all over the shelves and in her home office, what could they really be used for? If one gets the chance to peek inside,these bins will be filled with clutter. Receipts, cables, screws, even undergarments can be found in these places of storage. Like a squirrel getting ready for the winter, the FB stashes away garbage that could possibly come in handy on a cold winter day.

When there is no possibility of intruders, this creature's habitat will become a whirlwind of messiness. The vacuum's use is more as a clothes hanger than to pick up hair and dirt from the carpet. The bathroom will be a mosaic of make up and Q-tips. Tampons will rarely be inconspicuous. The bed if rarely made up and is filled with discarded clothing.

The kitchen is a whole other environment. Never used for cooking prey, the kitchen is barely used at all. It is generally found littered with dirty cereal bowls, empty diet soda cans, and take-out wrappers. The oven is oftentimes used for storage. Any dining room table will be covered by paperwork. The coffee table is where any in-home eating takes place. Don't be afraid to confront the female bachelor and ask her out, as she will be relieved to not have to worry about any hunting, preparing or cleaning activities for the night. After that first meal, keep in mind that it does take some coaxing to lure her out of her comfort zone again and back into the wild.

If you are lucky enough to spot one of these precious specimens, handle carefully, as they can very easily be scared off. Once out, the female bachelor is an amazing creature, and a very prized possession. Keep your eyes open for a documentary soon to be on the Discovery Channel regarding this intriguing mammal.

*The picture posted is of me, asleep on a train somewhere in Europe. Who wouldn't want to wake up next to that sleeping beauty! Lovely, I know.

Major Deal Breaker

Many of you may not know this, but when I am not slinging sandwiches and paninis, I moonlight as a nanny. I absolutely love it and am debating whether or not I can bypass the whole "real job" thing and just get paid to hang out with kids the rest of my life.

The other night as Blair (age 6) and I are coloring in her Hello Kitty coloring book, she asks me if I have a flower girl lined up for my wedding. Oh man. ANOTHER person pushing the marriage thing on me. That's a whoooole other blog... anyway, back to the coloring book. I explained to Blair that I am not exactly on the road to marriage at this point in my life.

Blair, "How old are you again?"

Me, "Twenty-five."

Blair, "You have TWO years left!"

Hmmm.

Me, "You don't have a boyfriend, do you?"

Blair, "Well, I did. He is in second grade."

-"An older man, huh? What did your mom think?"

Blair, "Well, he was a really nice boy. But he eats BUGS!"

You say it sister. We've all been there. When I was her age there was a cute boy in my class who ate bugs too. Now he is engaged and I'm thinking I should have snagged him up when all the other girls were grossed out by him.

When I asked her what she thinks I should be looking for, as far as a potential husband for myself, she proceeded to give the best advice I have recieved from anyone of any age...

"What to Look for in a Husband" By Blair (age 6)

1. nice heart

2. has a good and short haircut

3. handsome

4. smart

5. good reasons (like when he does something on accident and you ask him why, he has good reasons)

6. tries hard/ good worker

7. happy

8. always tells the truth

9. respectful

10. favorite thing to do is spending time with his family

11. good manners

12. has pretty blue or brown eyes (if there is a little green, that's ok)

13. is healthy (eats all his fruits and vegetables and is nice and skinny, but not too skinny)

and I am going to go ahead and make #14. doesn't eat bugs, as I am sure Blair would be on board with that one.

Just Another Tequila Sunrise

How many farewell concerts are acceptable for one band to play? The way I see it, a farewell concert means that you are not making any new music, and you are getting to old to be considered incredibly awesome. Therefore, one needs to pull the plug and end it. So your first farewell concert tour is a huge success. Well, congratulations! This is no reason to have six more. Put out a(nother) 'best of' CD, start up a talk show, start a clothing line, but 52 more "farewell" concerts is no longer a fairwell. You are old and I don't care how much I, or anyone else loves listening to your music, it is no longer acceptable to be money-grubbing geezers charging ridiculous amounts of money to people who have heard you play live before. This includes "retiring" ahem, Jay-Z.

In the summer of 2005, I witnessed the Eagles eighty-third-ish farewell concert on the Sonoma State University's soccer field. It was a pretty big deal. Large stage, a gated area, expensive tickets, and a huge mess afterwards. I believe that ticket sales had an age limit of 51+ and you had to be annoyingly stoned to get into the "I paid way too much for an outdoor concert" area. I, along with many of my college friends, walked to the campus to watch and listen from a hill that overlooked the soccer field/temporary stage. The band had a huge television screen and a great sound system which enabled everyone to see and hear that I was singing every word spot-on (did I mention that I am a huge fan?). By the looks of the empty beer cans, crushed cigarette butts, and ignored roach ends that were left for the cleanup crew, it was apparent that a great time was had by all, young and old.

Pan to two weeks later (a fortnight, if you will). During my college years, I worked at a coffee shop. On this Tuesday morning, I was most likely still humming "Take it Easy" as I steamed milk and brewed coffee. I loved talking and joking with the people that would come in on a regular basis. Not to mention, when a cute dude would come in, well, that was just an added bonus.

"...four that wanna own me, two that wanna stone me, one says she's a friiieeend of mine..."

There was one guy who we called "Large Mocha with Whip" because we never knew his real name. I thought that he was so adorable. He would come in almost every weekday to get his mocha before work, and every time, my co-workers would kindly step aside so that I could make his drink and chat with him (thanks guys).

On this morning, Mr. Adorable walks in wearing a black sweatshirt with white writing on it. "Eagles" was written across the front. He ordered his drink, and as I had been to the Eagles seven-millionth farewell concert two weeks prior, I asked him, "Oh! Did you see the Eagles when they had their concert at SSU?"

Behind me I hear Stacey mutter, "oh, no" under her breath. In that split second I knew that I had just said the dumbest thing that would ever leave my lips. I glanced up to see Mr. Adorable reach up to grab his drink, and on the arm of his sweatshirt I saw a patch. On it was the emblem of the Philadelphia Eagles.

I may not be a very big football fan, okay, I hate the sport, but in my defense, I know that the colors for the Philadelphia Eagles are white and teal! Errr...green? Regardless, it is not black and white. So while I may have made myself look like a ditsy, girly, stereotype, cut me a little slack. I could have asked him if he enjoys bird watching.

Ayeeeee BooBoo!

Thank goodness camping season is over. Finally the weather has gotten cold enough so that I don't have people constantly suggesting that "we should go camping!" I love summers, warm weather and being outdoors, but camping? I don't think so.

I used to try to convince myself that I enjoyed camping. That was before I came to realize how much I appreciate toilets and toilet paper. Do people actually get pleasure out of taking a crap in the woods? Fill me in on this one, because I don't get it. Even if you are at a campsite with "bathrooms" (I use this term loosely), how often do you think those things get cleaned? You might as well just use the great outdoors and a leaf. Isn't camping really just upscale homelessness?

Now what about those "mirrors" that they have in campground bathrooms. Bolting a shiny piece of sheet metal to a wall does not constitute a mirror. People look gnarly enough when they are camping and can really use all the help that they can get. I would think that the forest rangers or whoever is in charge of these 'fancy outhouses' would want to put up full length mirrors at all angles to help people out.

Not to mention, when I am asleep in my own home on a comfy bed, I never have to worry about waking up to a bear rummaging through my refrigerator. Nor do I have to worry about raccoons attacking my dog, or scrounging for food in my living room. If I did, I would move.

Sleeping on a bed is a luxury that most of us are lucky enough to indulge in every night. So why on earth would one want to sacrifice this luxury to go and sleep on the ground in a bag? And in the eyes of a bear, don't you think a person in a sleeping bag looks a little like a burrito? And we all know how irresistible a burrito is.

So next summer, unless you have a cabin with a bed (preferably a Swedish Temperpedic mattress, thank you), full kitchen and heating/air conditioning, please do not suggest to me that "we should go camping!" because I can guarantee my answer right now. It starts with "No" and ends with "F-ing way."

All Signs Point to Crazy

Due to an overwhelming* response from my fans, I feel that I must write a follow-up to my "Did I Really Just Say That?" blog. So here you go.

By "overwhelming" I mean about 5 or 6 people. Seeing as I only have 8 followers of my blog, that is over half and therefore constitutes as overwhelming.

Coffee dates..hmmm. Casual, social, safe. My plan was to make every effort to not go through the N.S.S. incident again. Think before you speak, Lindsay. Think before you speak. For once,

I was on time. Actually, I think I was about four minutes early (go me)! When Mr. X showed up he bought our drinks, which is a big deal these days I have noticed. So 'thank you' Mr. X!

We did what you normally do on a coffee date; chat, sip, chat. But things got interesting when, mid-date, Mr. X informs me that he does not, nor has he ever...owned a cell phone.

- "Wait, what?"

- "Well, I have a land line."

- "So...it has, like.....a cord?"

- "Well, it has a cord to the wall, but it's actually a wireless phone."

Me, "Oh thank God!"

My eighty-six year old grandmother owns a cell phone. I think that it would actually take more time and effort to not own a cell than to just get one. I mean, how granola do you have to be to think, "Nah, I'll go without one. I would rather be one with the trees and squirrels and write poems and eat dirt and wear Birkenstocks while I ride my bike and meditate than be a part of society."?

Ok, maybe I have taken it a little far, the guy was pretty normal minus this one small fact. Some people have said that I can be a little granola myself, but honestly, I can't think of one person I know that doesn't own a cellular device.

Mr. X has since come back to visit me at work. I, however, have taken no action. Show a little interest in me, and like a frightened wild animal I run the other way. Ignore me, and you are all I can think about. This process has not treated me well, but the definition of crazy is to repeatedly do the same thing over and over while expecting a different outcome. Interesting...

Needless, to say, he hasn't called. HA!