I'm My Own Muse

A Dramatic Interpretation of My Thoughts from Snow Jam ‘11

2011-01-13T11:06:00.000-08:00

Sunday – “They say this is really going to happen. Oh shit, I’d better get some ice cream.”

Monday - “Wow, this is really pretty. Look! Everyone is having so much fun outside. I love the snow.”

Monday Night – “I’m glad I’ve been teaching myself to enjoy absolute silence. Today was a good lesson in that.”

Tuesday Morning – “I’m going to get a lot done working from home today. Chin up, chest out, let’s go for a walk!”

Tuesday Afternoon – “Holy Crap! It is a sheet of ice out there. Why did I even bother going for ‘snow sexy’ I’m just the red-faced woman who’s dog keeps peeing in his own puffin vest.”

Tuesday Night – “Who knew? I can cook! Apparently, all cooking involves is throwing a bunch of veggies in with pasta, adding mayonnaise and a meat and cooking that shit. I am a total domestic goddess. Must update online dating profile to include ‘cooking’ as an interest.”

Tuesday Middle of Night –“Will work be open tomorrow?; I’m cold; I should really cut back on my recent mayonnaise intake; I feel like I’m visually fatter; Murphy snores a lot; Listen to that dumbass spinning tires out there; I wish I could sleep; I shouldn’t have taken up coffee drinking this week.”

Wednesday Morning – “SnOMG! What day is it? Where am I? Why am I thinking about trying to start a conversation with my neighbor through the wall? Why don’t I find that thought creepy? I clearly need to have human contact. I’m going to venture out.”

Wednesday 10am – “Listen to that dumbass spinning ti…wait that’s me. I have to go into the office. I have to speak to people and feel smart and good at something other than cooking, cleaning and washing my dog’s pee-soaked puffin vest. “

Wednesday 11am – “I am a total driving failure and road hazard. Thank God for friends with experience driving in this and for their willingness to meet me for lunch!”

Wednesday 11:05am – “Again, I’ve made poor shoe choice that focuses more on looking cute for the 10 other idiots walking down Peachtree than it does from keeping me upright. I’m going to bust my ass and break an ankle just like that poor tourist on the news. Man, the local media really rode that b-roll footage like a Thanksgiving Day float.”

Wednesday Night – “I can’t believe I just had a come apart over a bug. That’s totally out of character for me. Perhaps it is because the end of the world is occurring outside, and the bugs are coming in. I see this as more than a one-off incident. It is clearly a sign of the Apocalypse. I can’t take this anymore. Something’s got to give. Would it be bad for to call a needless departmental conference call just for human contact tomorrow? Sleep, take me quickly.”

Thursday Morning – “If I have to see one more newscast about this bullshit week, I’m going to scream. I might die alone and cold in this tiny condo. Have made third tuna casserole in three days and have sent 10th e-mail today filled with typos. I feel like I’m getting dumber and fatter by the minute. Should I update online dating profile to say ‘intellectually inferior’ and ‘big and beautiful’? Hold steady, Erin! don’t ruin your dating life because of cabin fever. You’re almost through this. You can do this. Why does it smell like cat litter in here? I don’t have a cat. This is it; the beginning of my mental break.”

Thursday, Noon – “Mmmm tuna casserole three is by far the most superior. Simple sophistication.

Thursday afternoon – “I’ve actually learned a lot about myself this week, and I've accomplished a lot of work. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to recap it or even put it in words. Perhaps I won’t even try. Nah, I’ll try. My nervous breakdown with DirecTV earlier this week earned me a free month of Showtime. I think I’ll acquaint myself. 89 days ‘til the cruise; 89 days ‘til the cruise. Hold, on Erin. ‘I’ll never let go, Jack.’”

Gems from Dating (Online-Dating Edition)

2011-01-13T07:20:00.000-08:00

Several of you liked my first Gems from Dating (Atlanta edition). In fact, you liked it so much, you sent it to The Bert Show, and they read it on air. That was so flattering, and it made me decide that I should hold off on more Gems until I have a really serious one to share.

Thanks to SnOMG ’11, and the boredom that caused me to actually engage in the situation that has led to the new Gems, I present to you my second installment of Gems from Dating:

The 41-Year Old (except from one "learning" relationship) Virgin

I was minding my own business “checking my traps” (a phrase my sweet dad coined for online dating.) when I received a message from some tool. Clearly, I must be doing something wrong with my dating profile, because I keep snaring crazies.

In the spirit of full disclosure and fairness in reporting, I’m going to present my profile, followed by an actual e-mail exchange, capped off with what I really wanted to say but refrained from saying in case The Tool has a car, Internet sleuthing skills, and a desire to make a lady dress out of me.

Let’s start with my profile (AKA: Clearly, I’m asking for it):

Headline: Girl.Guy.Date. It's Simple

Profile Text:

I wouldn't say I'm a woman of few words, but given that everyone seems to say the same things in their profiles, I’m hoping my to-the-point profile is an easy read that gives you an idea of me.

The basics about me are...

... I’ve never been married and have very little baggage. I guess I’ve just been waiting for the right person and the right time.
..I don’t have any children, but I do enjoy them and I’m open to having them one day. Right now, I’m an aunt and take that responsibility seriously!
...I have a precious dog, Murphy. He’s hilarious and makes me smile each-and-every day.
...I’m close to my family and have a great group of friends – both of which I cherish.
...I’m a director of PR and live/work in the Buckhead area.
...Honesty, trustworthiness and humor are very important to me.
...I’m tall, have long dark hair, fair skin and I’m curvy.

I love…

… Hearing a song that reminds me of my childhood. When one comes on, I can actually see a scene from my life playing out in my head, and I love that feeling.
…Watching my dog gather up blankets on the floor to make himself a nest, stretch, clean his paws and other general dog cuteness.
…Accomplishing something I wasn’t sure I’d be able to do.
…Helping someone when they least expect it.
…Taking a bite of ice cream and letting it melt on my tongue. Same with chocolate.
…Singing, playing tennis, traveling, driving through the mountains.
…When your eyes lock with a stranger and you both have a friendly moment in passing.
…My job, my boss, my coworkers (I’m lucky, I know!).
…My family.
…My faith and where I’m at with it.
….Raising Arizona, Ruthless People, Oh Brother Where Art Thou?, Quick Change and other quirky movies
…Easy going, funny people.
…Confidence.
…Irony, like seeing an overweight man in a ‘No Fat Chicks’ t-shirt.
…Mix tapes with odd pairings like Pink Floyd’s Comfortably Numb immediately followed by Phil Collins’ Easy Lover.
…Rainy days.

I don’t really like…

…the sound of chewing.
…People who have a woe is me attitude.
…Judgmental, racist, or overly preachy people.
…Lady Gaga, Sugarland, Angelina Jolie
…When women call each other “Biotch.”
…When strangers call me “Boo.”
…When people call their elders “sweetie,” and “darling”
…Overly crowded and super hip places.

I’m really freaked out by…

…The feel of paper between my fingers.
… Dark water.
…Falling asleep on top of the covers.
…Scary clowns.
…Birds coming at me.
…The new breed of hippie.

I’m looking for…

…Someone who has a great sense of humor.
…Someone who loves his family.
…Someone who respects intelligence and humor in women.
…Someone who has decided what faith means to him.
…Someone who has a solid job and won’t be bothered by the fact that I have a career.
…Someone who loves dogs and kids.
…Someone who is likely to volunteer and help those in need.
…Good chemistry

Finally, because they say you should address this: Looks are in the eye of the beholder and chemistry outweighs looks every single time in my life. That said, there needs to be attraction. Ideally, I’d like to find a man who is tall, takes care of himself (not a total gym rat, but cares about his health), has a good smile, and has eyes that light up with that smile. Additional things that stand out: glasses and tattoos with a good story behind them (not one that you picked off a wall because “tribal tats are so cool”). Also, self-proclaimed nerds are always welcome!

If you are into paragraph-form writing, I can do that too. Just send an e-mail, and I'll dazzle you with my ability to use full sentences.

Speaking of e-mails. I appreciate someone who takes the time to send one. I also really appreciate someone who takes the time to go beyond “hello” or “what are you up to?” And, if you actually reference something in my profile, you will blow my mind. I figure, we’re going to have to talk at some point; why not start now?

Happy Dating!

Not perfect, I'm sure, but not a written from a forced hospital stay either. I change my profile a good bit. The stats and points stay the same, but as a PR person, I know you need to adjust messaging and creative to see what works. This was a new adjustment that had been going pretty well for a few weeks. But, there must be something in there shining like a lighthouse for crazy men, because yesterday, I got this:

*Editor’s Note: I haven’t fixed a bit of his spelling and grammar; he’s this smart on his own.

Tool's first e-mail (AKA: A not-so lighthearted introduction):

Being that girl.guy.date is simple.....how many dates, relationships, physical expereinces have you had over the last 17 years?

Best

My response (AKA: What in the crazy hell is going on here? I’m going to keep it classy, but let him know he’s crossed a line):

Hmmm, that's a loaded question if I've ever received one. If I knew how many dates I've been on the past 17 years, I'd be pretty lame for keeping track. So, a lot is the best I can give you.

Relationships I would consider deep enough to report on - 3.

Any woman who talks about her past "physical experiences" with a stranger is probably a little crazy, and might be a little trashy. That's judgmental, I know. But, that's my humble opinion.

So, to keep the loaded questions going, tell me about your conservative, old-fashioned values. What do you consider the traditional definition of those values?

His response (AKA: Either women are dirty or I'm just poorly written):

Why do you suppose with having been on so many dates, none have worked out? Perhapos you've been dating for fun and not for marriage purposes?!

It's not about relationships deep enough to report on....but rather, relationships deep enough to have been sexually involved with. If someone can be sexually active with someone (even if for a night) then it's deep enough to report on.

Any woman that has sex with people before marriage could also be considered "trashy", no? Just because a woman won't talk about where she has been, well that doesn't make her clasy...does it? If a woman was proud about how she has conducted herself...then she wouldn't have a problem talking about her past. Most women however, now no self control, and because so, do lots of things with lots of people that they'd just soon not have to own up to. If a woman can have sex with different people, then she shouldn't have a problem with being acountable for her actions. That said, few women wish to hold themselves accountable for their actions. Most like to say "that was before you and it doesn't count". I say that if a woman's past doesn't count (all of it) then neither does she.

"Loaded questions" as you call them...are the best questions. They allow two honest and sincere people to know one another. People are always saying that they are tired of games....yet they are always playing them. Too bad more people won't just be honest....but, if they were honest, perhaps they wouldn't live the way they do (going from relationship to relationship with a second thought.).

The traditional definition of Old-fashioned is for me to define...rather, it is what it is. I either live by it or I don't. I have chosen to live by the correct definition of what it means to be conservative and old-fashioned. I have allowed myself one relationship in my 41 years, a learning expereince. After leaving the relationship, I made a promise to the person I hoped to meet and marry that I would wait for her and only her. That was 16 years ago. If I had had two, three, four, five, six etc relationship like most do, then I couldn't say that I learned from my first. Further, I would have learned to accept failure of a relationship as being ok...something that I knew wasn'/isn't right. In short I would have become jaded and damaged for anything lasting if I didn't make a comitment to the person I hope to marry...and keep it.

In short, I live as I hope the person I am looking for is living...celibate and not racking up failed relationship, sexual partners. If I am to be worthy of the kind of person I want to marry, it's important that I bee the same...no excuses. I am accountable for my actions...all of them. I have a conscience, one that keeps me doing the right thing. I could go on, but this exchange is looking rather lop-sided. : )

My Response (AKA: Don’t poke the bear. Especially if the bear has at least one woman in a hole putting the lotion on her skin)

Good luck with all that. (followed by clicking the ‘block user’)

Editor's Note: I quickly came to the conclusion that this man could likely be one of those serial killer types who thinks all women are unclean and who wants to wear me ask a skin dress, so I sent the above. However, I made this decision after writing the response below and sitting on it for a good hour (the cool-down hour).

Dream response (AKA: Boom!):

Okay, you might be one of the most off-putting, aggressive, assuming and narrow-minded people I've ever encountered. Allow me to answer your questions and address your rude comments:

I have to date to find "the one." Clearly I'm dating for marriage, but until the one is found, I have to go on dates with people who aren't the one. Do you expect your perfect, clean woman to just fall through your roof? Additionally, do you expect anyone to go from “nice to meet you” to “you are the one” without dating…if so, you are in a very creepy dream world.

It's hard to even address your comments about women and sex as they are totally inappropriate and show signs of you being mentally unstable. Clearly some woman destroyed you. I don't know if that happened in childhood or in your "learning experience" relationship – the only one you’ve had in 41 years. If making blanket statements and generalizations where something I were into, I'd note that your comments about women not having self control have the undertones of a serial killer who thinks he's acting on God's behalf.

Me using the phrase "loaded questions" was my attempt to gently point out that your approach and line of questioning was neither honest nor sincere (two things you claim to be). Your line of questioning reeks of a sad, lonely, angry man who's only had one relationship, and who is looking for a fight. And, he looked for the fight online like a coward because he couldn't hold his own in a face-to-face debate, nor would he ever have the courage to debate these issues with men, whom he obviously thinks of as the better and more pure sex (another blanket statement like the ones you seem to enjoy).

Regarding this little bit of crazy: “The traditional definition of Old-fashioned is for me to define...rather, it is what it is. I either live by it or I don't. I have chosen to live by the correct definition of what it means to be conservative and old-fashioned. I have allowed myself one relationship in my 41 years, a learning expereince. After leaving the relationship, I made a promise to the person I hoped to meet and marry that I would wait for her and only her. That was 16 years ago. If I had had two, three, four, five, six etc relationship like most do, then I couldn't say that I learned from my first. Further, I would have learned to accept failure of a relationship as being ok...something that I knew wasn'/isn't right. In short I would have become jaded and damaged for anything lasting if I didn't make a comitment to the person I hope to marry...and keep it,” Good luck with this theory. You're going to need it.

If I were a betting woman, I would put money on the fact that you being celibate is less by choice and more about how you approach and treat woman. I can’t imagine any woman wanting to share herself with a man like you physically or in any other way. If this e-mail exchange is at all a preview of how you conduct yourself in person, and in a relationship, I can see why you've decided on being celibate. You are so holy and wise for going that route; however, I’m sure it has something to do with the fact that you couldn’t get laid if you were bathroom tile.

If you are accountable for your actions, I sincerely hope you will take some accountability for how rude and out of line your comments are. This is a both pathetic and funny to me. For the record, your judgment of me is insane. I can promise you my morals are intact (I sleep very well at night; whether I’m alone or with a man), my relationship with God is strong, my ability to converse with others without looking like a socially inept fool is on point, and my ability to see a sad, angry, weirdo is so finely tuned, I know to block you and not deal with you, your mommy issues, and your judgments of women.

PS- adding a smiley emoticon to your poorly written e-mail doesn't mask your rage. In fact, I'll pray you tonight...and for any poor woman with low enough self-esteem to converse with you.

PPS- You might want to consider ordering a bride from Russia, and I’ll pray that you don’t kill her.

So, where is the gem in this post? It’s twofold. That’s right, people, we’ve got a two-for!

Gem for the ladies: Run your profile past at least one creepy male friend (don’t play confused, we all have at least one…even if he’s just a Facebook friend). If he wants to get coital with you, murder you, wear you as a dress, or any combination of these. PROFILE NEEDS REVISION.

Gem for the men: If you act like this-online, in bars, in relationships, or even in your head- prepare to familiarize yourself with a lot of solo lovemaking, restraining orders, and/or jail time.

I don't claim to be a dating expert. I'm just fumbling through it like all the other single women in Atlanta. We all screw up in dating. We all make fools of ourselves at one point or another. But there is a fine line between screw up and being so crazy that you become a ‘blocked user.’

And, that, my friends, is a real-life Dating Gem.

Dating Speeches and Training Wheels

2011-01-11T17:22:00.000-08:00

“I’m not an easy person to get to know. I can promise you that there will be times when you are trying to have a serious conversation with me and I’ll use humor to deflect your questions – simply because I find it difficult to bare myself. You need to know this now, and you need to know that it is okay to call me on it.”

The above is one of my many dating speeches. We all have these speeches: The ‘I don’t kiss on the first date’ speech; the ‘I can’t lose my identity’ speech; the ‘just the tip, just for a minute speech (yes this one still exists); the ‘my ex-girlfriend is still in my life because I feel sorry for her/we’re just friends’ speech. I could go on, but I’m just going to focus on my ‘I use humor to deflect’ speech.

If you know me, you probably think this couldn’t be the truth. I am very open, rarely meet a stranger, and can walk into a bar and leave with a friend with a fair amount of ease. However, the above speech is totally true. I have an easy time making friends, and I’m great at small talk. But, I can count on one hand the people who really know me on a deep level. Getting past the jokes, good times and chit-chat doesn’t always come easily for me. I can do it, but it takes time. And, I suspect I’m not the only one who opens up on a deeper level at a slower pace.

I’m well aware that whoever I date is going to eventually want to know more about me. That’s the point, right? Basic getting to know you, followed by deep connection, followed by love and life. So, it is important that I get past deep connection and move on to love and life.

The truth is, I didn’t even know this about myself until one of my training wheels pointed it out. To finish this story, I’ll tell you another:

I can remember when I finally removed the training wheels off my pink huffy. Well, my mom removed them, but I was there. Proud, prepared and ready to ride the North Landing Drive loop. I felt like nothing could stop me, no one owned me, and I could carry the world in my bike basket. I was a little woman with big dreams. I was ready.

When it comes to lasting love, I believe that everyone is wrong until someone is right. But, I don’t believe there are any real dating mistakes – not if you view your daters as training wheels. I believe that we all have to go through several sets of training wheels before we are ready to cruise into love with a two-wheeler.

You see, when a relationship ends, I try to look for the lessons. It may take me several months or years, but I try to spend less time focused on hate and hurt and more time seeking the lessons I’m supposed to take from the relationship (as well as identifying my part in the breakdown). I do this with the hope that, one day, I’ll realize that I’ve found a two-wheeler to spend my life with. And, I’ll be able to thank all my training wheels for preparing me for him.

Recently, I had a friend who became a set of training wheels. That’s a story for another blog (or perhaps one I’ll keep for myself). In short, I thought I’d finally found a platonic friend and then ‘bam!’ realized that I wanted more, then ‘bam!’ realized that I had real feelings, then ‘bam!’ realized we had broken the friendship (a calculated risk that failed) in hopes of something better, then ‘bam! realized we were a total mismatch. My heart hurt.

Rather than focusing on my hurt for too long, I tried to focus on what this wonderful man taught me and how he helped me grow. There are many ways he excelled at being training wheels, but the day he said, “You know, Erin, we spend a lot of time together, and I don’t really know you. You really don’t tell me anything about yourself, and aside from joking and flirting, I don’t know who you are,” was some of the best training I’ve ever reconceived.

Talk about a grownup conversation. He was kind enough to struggle though it with me several months while dating and for a few more as we tried to re-establish the friendship. Whenever he sensed I was closing off about a subject, he’d encourage me to talk. Even saying at one point, “It’s going to be okay. We can talk about this; you will survive the conversation because I’m going to help you through it.” And, he would bare his soul to me regularly. It was healthy communication…well as healthy as people in a totally undefined dating situation could have.

I know my friends, being good friends, would love to see me take a ‘screw him’ attitude, but I learned so much from his training wheels. So much so, that I have created my own third date rule (to replace the insane standing third date rule that says I have to sleep with a man because he takes me out three times). My third date rule is, if I sense I’m going to go on a fourth, fifth and sixth date, I’m going to find a way to work some version of my ‘I use humor to deflect’ speech into the conversation.

I’ve only tried this speech on a couple of men, and it has gone over well. Once I gave them permission to call me on my crap just the way the sweet set of training wheels did, the conversations move past getting to know you. It feels far more authentic. I’m not doing PR spin; I’m just opening up.

So, there you have it. My dirty dating secret…I’m not as easy a nut to crack as you might think. And you now know that I prefer looking for lessons-rather than looking for fault, and reasons to hate-when something comes to an end.

I don’t love dating, but I love the idea that I’m doing it to prepare for life with someone. At 32, I can admit I’ve needed a few more sets of training wheels than others. I hope my extra training means, when I finally do decide someone is forever kind of two-wheeler, I’ll avoid getting my shoelace caught in the spokes of love, causing a full-on wipe out.

In the meantime, thanks to this particular set of training wheels, I’m far more open! A benefit I suspect my eventual two-wheeler will enjoy as much as I do. And, for that, I say, “thank you, training wheels.”

I’m sure I’ll have more stories about other training wheels both past and future - some of which I don’t always have fond memories of; some of which have helped me author other dating speeches; all of which have taught me something about myself.

Practice makes perfect, and there’s no shame in the training wheel game!

Five Reasons My Dog Thinks the Vacuum Cleaner Being Turned on is a Sign of the Apocalypse

2010-12-23T09:27:00.000-08:00

I’m not sure what version of the apocalypse my dog, Murphy, is planning for, but I think his version includes ‘gigantic suction machines that attack hardwood floors and puppies’ as the beginning of the apocalypse. I submit now, five pieces of evidence that will prove beyond a shadow of a doubt Murphy believes the vacuum cleaner being turned on is a sign of the apocalypse:

1. Right when Murphy realizes the vacuum cleaner has been turned on, he runs to his food and water to eat and drink. He’s a smart dog and knows that he’ll need his fill of lamb and rice to survive what has just broken loose. I can’t swear by it, but sometimes it almost looks as though he his limbering up while eating and drinking. There appears to be a pretty intense hamstring stretch going on.

2. Next, he realizes that he has a family of stuffed babies to protect. He gathers them all into one corner of my bedroom and starts to run circles around the condo, occasionally stopping back by to ensure his babies are safe.

3. While working patrol and protecting his family, Murphy spends some time checking me out. I’m fairly certain he is contemplating whether I need to be eliminated. In his world, as the human working with the apocalypse suction machine, I could very likely be a threat. However, I appreciate his thoughtfulness each time. He has yet to make the decision to go all Book of Eli on me, but I have no doubt he has a fully formulated plan in case I get the suction machine too close to him or his babies.

4. While keeping a close eye on me, Murphy meticulously grooms himself. I kind of blame myself for this. He has been raised by a human who would groom before hitting the mean streets during the apocalypse. However, because he isn’t sure what to expect— I mean, even if he and his babies survive the suction machine, Murphy knows more craziness could be just on the other side of our condo door—he spends a lot of time grooming his paws. I think he is actually licking the fur away from the claws in preparation of cutting me on the way out the door, but I can’t be certain.

5. When the suction machine is finally cut off, he celebrates his survival by chewing on one of his babies’ faces, then giving his nether regions a special ‘celebration’ cleaning (don’t act like your dog doesn’t do it), then naps. I’m not sure if this is a proper celebration for surviving the apocalypse, but I’m not going to judge as I’ve never been through one. Who knows what I would do?

About this time, I stop belting out Wake Me Up Before You Go Go—I’m also well aware this could be the real cause of Murphy’s reaction—and sit down to rest. Murphy takes a break from his celebration routine and usually comes up to ensure I haven’t been turned in some way – and to ensure that I don’t have the sign of the beast on me. Once he realizes that I’m a fellow survivor, he warms back up to me – letting his flowing puppy hair fall back over his precious puppy paws/killing machines, and we snuggle in a clean house that is safe for another three days – when we will do it all over again.

....

Here's a good example of what it looks like

when Murphy experiences the level of exhaustion

that falls over a dog after surviving the apocalypse.

Note the lack of trust in the face and the paws that are

still awaiting the need to strike. Well played, Murphy. Well. Played.

HANGIN' WITH HIPPIES IN SAN FRAN

2010-12-09T18:18:00.000-08:00

I spent most of my day wondering around the Haight-Ashbury district of San Francisco. At first glance, this probably seems pretty benign to you, but if you know how freaked out I am by all things hippie, you would know that this was really more of a therapy session for me than anything.

For the past couple of years, I’ve been trying to face fears – both small and large – head on. I can’t tell you why, but I really have an aversion to hippies. Well, rephrase: I have an aversion to new hippies. Meaning, if you are a hippie and you’ve been stonin’ around since the sixties, I have no problem with that. But, it is the new breed of hippie that freaks me out. I have no clue why, but they do.

Anyway, as a part of my self-therapy, I’ve been trying to face fears head on. So, today, in the birthplace of hippies, I jumped off a bus and joined them. I brushed shoulders on the streets, shopped in their stores, admired their unwashed hair and even chuckled to myself when my eyes started watering thinking, “I bet I look like one of them now.”

There were all kinds of hippies on my journey today: old hippies, new hippies, hippies that live on the stairs with their dogs, hippies that play some kind of freaky wind machine at the entrance to Golden Gate Park. Pick your particular brand of hippie, and I mingled with him or her today.

I don’t know that this emersion therapy cured me of my fear of new-fangled hippies, but I do respect those who give it all up to roam the streets of their lifestyle’s birthplace. I can’t say I’ll be rushing back tomorrow, but for today, I jumped in the mix (all by myself) and got my hippie on. That being said, I do smell like a mixture of weed and pee, so I’m going to hit the shower now.

In the meantime, enjoy this little hippie pup. The best little hippie I've ever met. he was totally knocked out in front of a laundry mat. I love him.

HOW TO WIN A ONE-UPPIN’ CONTEST

2010-12-08T08:31:00.001-08:00

So, I’m in the middle of my standard pre-flight nervous breakdown at the airport. My flight to San Francisco has been delayed by an hour, which gives me more time freak out. As I sit here pondering why I’m so amped up and crazy about certain things (like flying), I’ve come to the conclusion that I come by my crazy naturally. Like most families, I’ve got crazy on both sides. And, like most Southern families, we are kind of proud of our crazy. We don’t hide it in the attic, we put it right out there for all to enjoy. Being the granddaughter of a woman who would fall on the floorboard of a car and cry while going over a bridge over water (I’m not that bad, but I’m not a fan of bridges over water), it is no wonder that I have hard-core pre-flight rituals and the ability to freak out before boarding. Yeah, Hartsfield, enjoy that.

So, while pondering my own personal crazy, I started thinking about some of the crazy in my family and have to admit that my family’s crazy (on both sides) is good enough to win awards…major awards. And, if there are no awards to be won in the area of family craziness, I can say that our crazy at least helps me win one-uppin’ contests!

So, I’m not sure what stories you all are telling at work, on vacation or elsewhere today. But, allow me to introduce you to Uncle Claude – my uncle who got a DUI in a wheelchair.

Family folklore has it that my great uncle Claude got a DUI in a wheelchair. He was a full blown alcoholic who had a history of mean, inappropriate drunken behavior. He was the kind of man you stood clear of when he was on a bender, which seemed to be always.

How he got in the wheelchair in the first place is fascinating enough. Apparently, he was shit-your-pants-and-sit-in-it drunk one night while watching the Andy Griffith show. In this particular, life-changing for Claude, episode, Opie got in trouble and Andy yelled at him. This behavior was simply unacceptable to Claude and he rose from his seat, charged the television and started cussing, slurring and yelling right back at Andy. Claude’s rage reached such a level that, when mixed with the constant high levels of booze in his body, caused him to have a paralyzing stroke right there in front of the Andy Griffith Show. His last moments standing upright and able to speak were spent in a drunken fight with a fictional character.

Claude is the subject of many Latimer family stories that are best held for another time, but the DUI story is always the one we Latimer’s hold as the final knockout blow in un-uppin’ contest.

Imagine yourself locked and loaded. You’ve just silently watch two or three friends tell stories of the mom’s getting drunk at the office party, brothers getting got with pot in church and sisters streaking the fraternity house next door. You sit silently and wait your turn. Just when everyone thinks you’ve got nothing to add, you hit them with, “My uncle got a DUI for wheeling drunk down I-75 in a wheelchair.” He was drunk, on wheels and moving … he got a DUI.
Boom. Done. Game over. That’s how a Latimer shuts down a one-uppin’ contest.

The truth is, I’ve never seen paperwork that proves this is true, but I’ve lived 32 years a Latimer, and that is all I need to fully rep this story on the streets. This is a man who, my entire life, wheeled around in a wheelchair, saying three things: “my-my,” “money,” and “GD.”

This is also a man that had one really long thumb nail that he used to perfectly slice and line up bananas for a banana and mayo sandwich. So, I’ve got enough history as a Latimer to feel confident that this story is both true and a winner every time it’s told.

As you simmer on that, I’m going to buy my traditional Powerade and granola bar. Say my pre-flight prayers, and get on this plane. I’ll see you in San Fran!

F*CKERY-FREE DATING

2010-12-06T06:40:00.000-08:00

My threshold for fuckery* is way low these days.

I realize "fuckery" might be offensive to some readers, but there is no other word to describe it. I've heard people say that once a single woman hits her 30s, her chances of finding a husband are low. It is always made out that her chances are low because she becomes less desirable and has less to offer.

I beg to differ. I think some women hit their 30s and realize they have pretty wonderful lives with or without male companionship. And, their tolerance for fuckery goes down.

Here’s the thing. This Friday, I’ll be treating myself to a lovely dinner and show in San Francisco. I’ll be with a great gal pal and we’ll enjoy looking at cute men on the other side of the country (it just so happens, these cute men will be performing in a drag show of the Golden Girls. I digress). I’ll treat myself very nicely this Friday.

Last Friday, I treated myself very nicely. Today, I’ll treat myself very nicely. When I celebrate my birthday next week, I’ll treat myself very nicely. I am, and will continue to be nice to myself.

So, this single (and still desirable) lady in her 30s will wait for a man that can treat me just as nicely as I treat myself. He doesn’t have to take me to San Fran, he just needs to be free of fuckery. If he shows up, I’ll be ready. But, I’m not holding my breath, freezing my eggs or otherwise in a frenzy. I truly love men and enjoy being around them. But, I believe that men, unlike boys, are free of fuckery. That’s what I’m looking for...a man.

In the meantime, I’ll continue enjoying the lovely fuckery-free relationship I have with myself!

*For those with cleaner vocabularies than mine:

Fuckery (used as a noun in this post. There is a difference between the noun and verb usage of fuckery) is immature shenanigans to the point of being absolute bullshit. Fuckery brings forth feelings of nonsense and rage. The best thing to do with fuckery is walk away from it.

Used in a sentence: Take your fuckery elsewhere, good sir.

(Note: the usage of “good sir” classes up the word “fuckery” almost cancelling out the fact that "fuckery" is derived from the word "fuck").

WATCHING A STRANGER POOP MADE ME CHANGE MY BLOG

2010-12-03T14:58:00.000-08:00

It’s no secret that I get easily creeped out by bathroom stuff. In a more anatomically-perfect world, none of us would ever have the occasion to enter a bathroom. Our bodies just wouldn’t have the need. However, we do have to use restrooms, and it was in a ones-y bathroom in a small midtown restaurant a few weeks ago where I stood by, with one eye, and watched a complete stranger move her bowels.

I feel like that was a fork in the road for me: life before I watched a stranger poop, and life after I watched a stranger poop.

If you aren’t creeped out by bathroom stuff the way I am, this might seem a bit of an overstatement. Okay, no matter what, it is an overstatement. But, if nothing else, watching a stranger poop has made me rethink some things in my life. Namely, this blog.

Let me explain.

I was at this restaurant enjoying myself at a friend’s birthday party. Here’s how the story goes: Good company; good food; good drinks; good God! My contact lens just tore!

If you are a lens wearer, you know the pain this causes. You go from enjoying yourself to painful blindness and watering in your affected eye. And, it literally all happens in the blink of an eye.

I excused myself from the table, grabbed my rewetting drops and jumped in line to wait for the Ladies’ room to open. When it was my turn, I stepped in and turned the bathroom into a triage unit: lens out, rewetting drops at the ready, tissue under the eye to salvage my eye makeup. It was a whole production.

After performing minor triage to the eye, I swiftly gathered my things and walked out. As I stepped out, the lens started hurting again. A friend, and fellow party-goer, was coming toward the restroom and we both went back in together. In the rush to save the lens, we left the door slightly cracked and unlocked.

Big mistake. Now the story begins.

As my friend and I are trying to revive my flat-lined contact lens, the door swings open and a short, slight, woman in her 50s comes into the restroom, nods at us, walks over to the toilet, drops her pants, takes a seat, and begins watching us.

Me dealing with my issue - her dealing with her issue.

At this point, my lens situation becomes even worse, because this woman has now contaminated the sterile lens environment I had created. Additionally, it doesn’t take long to realize she isn’t just tinkling. No, she clearly needed a newspaper – however, staring at me as I fix my lens seemed to be just the distraction she needed while she handled her business.

The good news is my lens was out on the side furthest away from her (minimizing germs from the inevitable flush); the bad news is I had full vision in the eye closest to her (making it even more awkward as she made eye contact with me while pooping). At this point, it was like I was trying to run underwater – everything moving painfully slowly – and the stranger on the toilet seemed to not care that there were three of us involved in her private moment.

She finished her business just as I called time of death for my contact lens. She exited first; then my friend and I followed. I felt like I had been attacked, blinded in one eye and sexually violated by a fecal-philiac.

All I wanted to do was fix my damn lens so I could go to the bar after dinner. Instead, I witnessed a stranger double up in a public bathroom. The fact that this all went down as I was touching my eye repeatedly just adds to the scars from the event.

I emerged from the bathroom with a puffy, red eye (makeup completely gone) and the tears (now from laughter) kept flowing. My friend grabbed my shoulders looked me in the good eye and said,

“That just happened.” To which I replied, “I’m going home. I can’t take another second of this.”

I quietly gathered my things, left that restaurant, and drove home with my hand cupped over my eye like a makeshift eye patch. It was on this drive home I came to two conclusions:

1. That woman was clearly in a situation where she had to make the choice to either crap her pants in room full of strangers or use the restroom in front of two strangers. Who’s to judge that situation (we can laugh, but let’s not judge) until we are in it, and let’s all pray we never have to make the Sophie’s choice of the colorectal world.

2. I am a beacon for crazy people, things and situations. They flock to me like sailors guiding their boats through the fog of the night.

It is my second conclusion that has brought me to this post and to the decision to turn I Am My Own Muse into a blog about my entire life, rather than just my dating life. Oh, don’t worry; there will still be plenty of hilarity from my dating life – guaranteed. But, I need to purge stories from my past and present while preparing the world (or the small part of it I, and this blog, reach) for the future with Erin.

Stay tuned, because I’m going to start introducing you to a cast of characters that will blow your mind! Some are family and friends, and some I just collect along the way (like the public pooper). One thing I can promise, my life is tragically funny and you have my full permission to laugh and cry for and with me.

Here’s to the new musings of I Am My Own Muse! Where I can literally write about whatever shit I want (yeah, I said it).

Five Disclaimers for My Online Dating Profile

2010-09-19T09:58:00.000-07:00

I'm not really doing the online thing very much right now. Need a break. But, I did get inspired-by reviewing a few e-mails I've recently received-to start a list of disclaimers I'd like to add to my profile:

1. No, I don't want to see your penis.

2. That picture of you waxing your car does nothing for me.

3. Nice pecs; do you own any shirts?

4. While I appreciate the five pics you have of yourself standing with an anorexic three foot tall blonde (good for you), you could just be more direct by saying: no tall, dark-haired fatties.

5. If you IM me to ask me what size bra I wear, please understand that I'll turn your newfangled technology against you and emasculate you on the spot.

I'm sure I'll have more later, but this is a nice start.

A few good things about a broken heart

2010-09-11T08:32:00.000-07:00

It proves you have the capacity to love.

It proves you are willing to take a risk - with the small chance someone will take the risk with you.

It proves you are human.

It proves you care for other humans.

It proves you are strong enough to close your eyes and fall.

It proves you are willing to do what it takes to connect and find your someone.

And, in time, it will be a distant memory and proof that you can move on.

Words From my Blog

2010-08-16T18:19:00.000-07:00

title="Wordle: www.youshouldstartablog.blogspot.com"> src="http://www.wordle.net/thumb/wrdl/2299719/www.youshouldstartablog.blogspot.com"
alt="Wordle: www.youshouldstartablog.blogspot.com"
style="padding:4px;border:1px solid #ddd">

You Know You've Been Out To Dinner With A Man When...

2010-08-16T15:01:00.000-07:00

Well, there are many ways you can answer this! But the answer for me is:

You know you've been out to dinner with a man when the only photo produced from the evening involves the salt and pepper shakers being lined up with your boobs.

Points were granted for comedy! I can respect and appreciate that!

The Nickel Theory

2010-08-07T16:40:00.000-07:00

My father had a theory called “The Nickel Theory” that applies to many different parts of one’s life. The theory applied to my dad’s journey as a country music writer and goes like this:

My father was a young husband and father with a dream of being a country music writer. We lived in Georgia, but the dream would obviously be realized in Nashville, so that meant weeks and weeks of lonely travel for my dad.

If you have ever considered shopping your music around, you already know how much pavement one would have to pound before getting a big break, and you might have even experienced the disappointment and heartbreak I am about to describe.
After yet another disappointing trip to Nashville, my dad stopped at a diner on the long trip home. It was at this diner that he met someone who changed the course of his life; we’ll call him The Nickel Man.

So, The Nickel Man asked my dad why he seemed so down, and in true country music fashion my dad shared a story of disappointment, growin’ up tough, and heartache with him. “I just don’t think I’ll ever succeed at this,” my dad told him. And with that, The Nickel Man invited my dad to have a seat at his booth, and when he did, The Nickel Man pulled out a nickel.

With my defeated dad across from him and a nickel on the table, The Nickel Man asked my dad to close his eyes and, with his pointer finger, point around on the table until he found the nickel. My dad, half-exhausted and half simply willing to play along, took the pointer finger he used for pickin’ the guitar and began to point around on the table. Eventually, dad found the nickel and then opened his eyes to see The Nickel Man there to congratulate him on his success. He asked my dad if he had been successful, to which dad replied, “Yes; I found the nickel.” “Yes you did,” replied The Nickel Man, “but you failed 15 times before you found it. Even though you failed 15 times, you still found success because you didn’t give up.”
Do you see where I’m going with this tale of motivation? Are you wondering what this has to do with a woman writes about her dating life?

Well, it is just a more personal way of saying that, just as in country music, we all might have a little heartache and disappointment in our lives. We all might, at times, be able to say, “Well, I was drunk the day my mom got out of prison and I went to pick her up in the rain. But, before I could get to the station in my pickup truck, she got runned over by a damned old train.”

In love, we might miss the mark and a few times but as long as we pull out our pointer finger, close our eyes and keep pokin’ around the diner-table of life, we just might be successful in finding the one!

PS –I quoted a song by the David Allen Coe not just to be cute. It so happens that my dad did find success in country music and it started with writing the David Allen Coe song, “Time Off for Bad Behavior.” Solid.Country.Gold.

In Search Of My Complement, Not My Completion

2010-07-27T17:22:00.000-07:00

I’m not a dating pro, but I am a pro at the first date. You can’t swing a cat in Atlanta without hitting one of my first dates. But, for most people, the goal of dating is to find someone, and if that is the criteria by which I measure my success at dating…then so far, I’ve failed.

Luckily, that is not the criteria by which I measure myself. Nor should you. But, I can’t help but wonder how I’ve managed to collect so many first dates in my years of dating.

I just recently told a friend that I believe men can smell desperation from miles away. If you are putting those vibes out, even subconsciously, you might as well run through the streets waving your ovaries around screaming, “Tick tock goes the clock!” I’ve always been acutely aware of that, and I’ve committed myself to playing it super cool. The truth is, I’m not desperate. If I were, I would be married by now…and to the wrong person. But, there have been plenty of times in my life when I’ve really wanted to settle down and find my other half. Someone to complete me. There have also been plenty of times—despite my cool exterior—I know I’ve worn the scent of desperation.

When I was younger, I had very low self esteem. I was a people pleaser, and (surprise!) I used humor to win the affections of those around me. I had no clue how to flirt or use my womanly ways to attract men, but I was always hoping someone would see past the jokester to find the sweet, potential partner inside me.

I spent a lot of time speaking negatively to myself, and about myself to others. For someone who studied the art of public relations, I couldn’t have been a worse publicist for my own cause. I mean, who wants to date someone who spends most of her time telling you why you shouldn’t date her...hence, being a pro at the first date.

Eventually—through a bunch of twists and turns far too detailed to go into in this short blog—I decided that I was just going to pretend I was the best thing going. I was going to walk into bars, parties, work, the grocery store, anywhere and present myself as if I loved myself so much I couldn’t stand it. My goal was to fake being a narcissist…go way over the top.

As I began executing this little social experiment, I was completely outside of my comfort zone. For example, when someone would pay me a compliment, I would force myself to simply say “thank you” rather than trying to convince the kind person he or she was idiot for liking me by saying things like, “no way, I’m plain and I really could stand to drop some weight.” I went over the top announcing my beauty to those who were interested, flirting with every guy who stood still near me, talking to people in elevators, and just telling myself over and over that I was a catch. The problem for me was never shyness; the problem was that everyone who knew me knew at my core I didn’t think very highly of myself.

Now this story of social experimentation could have multiple endings. I could have just lost my grip with reality and really continued faking the narcissism. However, I eventually settled into a middle ground – the most comfortable place a woman can find. A place where, I know I’m not perfect, but I truly love who I am and know I have plenty to offer my friends, family and a potential partner. On this middle ground, I’ve learned to walk a little steadier, not take myself so seriously, and just try to relax a little.

Now, if you are reading this and you have dated me in the last five years, you might think I’m not so relaxed and steady. That is because I’m still working to keep my balance on the middle ground – finding that place between the perfection no one will ever achieve and the self-loathing that could kill feelings of romance in a heartbeat.

It is easy for me to look back into my early twenties and see why I didn’t find love at that time in my life. I was so busy seeking someone to make me like myself, I sent vibes of desperation that would appeal to no man (well, it appealed to the wrong kind of man). I can also tell you that my dating life is still not perfect: believe it or not, I don’t open up quickly or easily (shocking, I know, considering I write about this for anyone to see), I still try to make everything as close to perfect as I can, and I get very blushed when a man genuinely compliments me. But here is the difference, I have recently learned that if I care enough about someone, I will open up and let him in – even at the risk of him breaking my heart. I have learned it is okay to strive for perfection as long as I reconcile the fact that I, and everyone else, will never get there. And, I’ve learned that when man gives me a genuine compliment, it is okay to believe it is true.

So, what advice did I give my friend when we were talking about men smelling desperation? The same advice I always give myself: Don't spend so much time looking for someone to fall in love with that you forget to fall in love with yourself and the life you have now. I think it might be much easier to find someone to complement you than it is to find someone to complete you.

Cinderella's Castle

2010-07-25T17:00:00.000-07:00

I spent the afternoon with one of my smart, beautiful, single girlfriends. We had a long conversation about our first visits to the Magic Kingdom and what a colossal letdown Cinderella’s Castle was. As young girl, who believed Cinderella was a promise for my future, I couldn’t wait to see where she ‘lived.’ When I arrived and found out the castle was just a walkthrough tunnel with a store and a restaurant, the bitter disappointment was a tough pill to swallow. I was old enough to know that Cinderella was a fairytale, but I wanted to see a castle that would allow me to dream about my very own fairytale.

I’m well aware that there are some people who would tell me (and other single thirty-something women) that the fairytale isn’t going to happen for us. I find this kind of thinking fascinating. Here’s why:

Fairytales can change over time. For example, when I was in elementary school, my fairytale was to marry CC Deville from Poison (yes, I loved men who wore makeup, and I won’t stand in your judgment). And, I forced my best friend to agree to marry Bobby Dall from Poison (had to be the same group so we could travel together). We would all share a house and raise our children together.

As time went on, I became a teenage girl, and the fairytale was finding a way to win the heart of whatever boy flashed his eyes at me. I was going to rise in the ranks and become the “it” girl (reference the classic 1980s movie, Teen Witch).

And, as I grew older, I entered college and re-wrote the fairytale yet again. College was where I would meet a smart, talented young man who was going places. We would date, go to fraternity/sorority functions and we would dedicate ourselves to our careers and our love. Our castle would be a sleek Buckhead condo … child-proofed, of course.

Then, I hit my early twenties. This was the glutton-for-punishment fairytale. I decided this was the time to date bad boys (because they are always so good for you). I was going to find a severely wounded bird, help him work through his rage, and then we were going to run off together. I would walk around with a golden glow as the sweet girl who took a chance with a tough guy.

As you can see, the fairytale keeps changing. Some might say I have a lack of focus, but that is not true. I’ve lived life and embraced each stage of the game…each and every fairytale. And, frankly, I’m less impressed with the fairytales I created for myself and more fascinated with the growth that came from realizing each one of those fairytales weren’t my destiny…plain and simple.

Very few of my friends are still single, and there are certainly people my mother’s age who wonder why I haven’t found the one. I can’t answer this because the truth is I have no idea what my final fairytale will be (though I look forward to finding out). In fact, I don’t know if my ‘prince’ will come. I don’t really need to be saved, so I imagine he’ll be more of a duke to my duchess if he is out there at all. But, this is what I can tell you (and something all single women and their thirties should know). The fairytale is what we make of our lives right now. It is finding joy in today; it is dreaming about tomorrow; it is knowing that there is nothing wrong with taking your time to become the best you before you find the one you want to share yourself with.

In a lot of ways, my love life has been just like Cinderella’s Castle – each relationship looks really promising on the outside. But once you get I get in, it is something different. And, let’s face it. This is how love is supposed to work. Each person is the wrong one…until he/she is the right one. A simple truth if you think about it.

I never married CC Deville. I didn’t become the ‘it’ girl who dated all the cute boys in high school. I didn’t get married right out of college. And (thankfully) I never ran off with the bad boy. But here is what I have done: I’ve worked hard and landed the exact job I always dreamed of. I purchased my own place to live. I’ve built a group of sincere and true friends. I’ve discovered what I will and won’t do, and take, in a relationship. And, I’m learning that it is okay to just be with me.

Finally, I’ve dated some pretty fabulous men who have made me a better woman. If Mr. Right is out there, he’ll have to send his thanks and regards to these guys. And, the good times keep comin'!

So, perhaps I haven’t built my own Cinderella’s Castle, but I’ve always been more of a bungalow type of girl anyway!

Costumes

2009-10-12T19:43:00.000-07:00

I just tried on my Halloween outfit. As I stared at myself in the mirror, I realized that I wasn’t going as a witch or a cat (let’s face it, the costume is interchangeable … black, slutty-er than normal, and some kind of head gear), no I was going as 30 year-old, trying too hard.

As I removed the costume—piece by uncomfortable piece—it made me think about the other costumes I’ve worn throughout my life and the times I’ve tried too hard to be something—or someone—I’m not.

I was immediately taken back to my first day of high school. I’ll preface this story by saying that I’ve always been a good girl…a late bloomer even, so what I’m about to describe baffles me. I truly have no idea why this girl showed up for the first day of high school.

It was the first day of my freshman year. I had just come off of three years of middle school where I was taller than all the boys and more curvy than most of the girls (at least, without the help of tissue).

I must have made it through the first part of that day with no real drama or story to tell, because it is just my mid-day chorus class (see, I told you I was a good girl) that stands out.

Being the tallest girl in class, I was on the back row of the risers. I was sitting between two boys – one of which had already become the object of my affection. We were warming up when I felt myself start to move. Before I could get a grasp on the reality of what was happening, my chair slipped between the top bar of the risers the bottom of them. This caused me to instantly fold in half with my feet in the air and my plaid skirt up over my head (and, no, I wasn’t in private school. I picked that outfit with pride).

Now, in theory, this just sounds like a relatively funny story about a person falling. It’s the subtle nuances of my outfit that tell the real story.

As I fell, a million things were rushing through my head (mostly about how fat I was and how horrible I must look, and how I had to make sure everyone knew I hadn’t broken the chair…you know, all those self-loathing thoughts a 5’10” 14 year-old would think of herself while falling and showing her goodies to an entire group of her peers).

Once my brain actually caught on to what was happening, I had only one option: I dug my two-inch long acrylic nails into the legs of both boys on either side of me, clawing them the whole way down.

As if my hooker nails weren’t enough, the entire class was introduced to my thigh-high stockings. Now, you might be wondering how I snuck this past my mother on the way out of the house that morning. I don’t think I actually had to sneak it past her. I think, in her heart, she knew that I was such a cluster, I wouldn’t know what to do with thigh-highs – even if I had the chance (which, trust me, after that introduction to high school, there weren’t many chances).

There I was, dressed like a little Lolita with my legs in the air, dangling upside down from the chorus risers as everyone sang, “Me, May, Ma, Moe, Moo.”
That was the first and last time I ever wore thigh highs – especially with penny loafers (yea, I said it: I may as well tell the whole story if I’m going to live in the light of truth here).

You see, I wanted so badly to be something I wasn’t – a dangerous bad girl (dressed in a wicked combo of the GAP and Fredrick’s of Hollywood) who was desired by all the boys. I didn’t want to be the 14 year-old, innocent, slightly chubby, good girl who might still groom her Barbie dolls (preparing them for my daughter, of course!)
The truth is, I was lucky that my one-day attempt at being a bad girl failed. What would have happened if my costume had become my reality?

So, tonight, as I walked away from the Halloween costume that won’t be worn, I looked in the mirror and saw that same good girl staring back at me wondering just how close I’ll come to falling of the risers and flashing my thigh highs.

Women don’t always stay as naïve as we were at 14. I’ve learned a lot. I’ve gained so much more self-confidence, I’ve become smarter, more independent and more willing to love and accept all sides of me – even the upside down ones. And, I’ve become a much better dresser.

That’s not the last time I was suspended half naked and upside down in front of strangers. It took a few more times, both literally and figuratively, to learn my lesson. More on that in a future post!

So, what about Halloween? It is a night for costumes, but Sexy-Witch-Cat-in-inappropriate-clothing won’t be in the tarot cards for me this. I don’t know what I’ll wear, but my costume won’t become my reality! I know my
reality, and I like her.

Oh, Romance is Not Dead: Just Check Out My Inbox!

2009-10-01T18:01:00.000-07:00

This blog should really be titled: I’m Crappin’ You Negative, because I am not kidding when I say that real people have put these words together and sent them to a stranger – me!

I have been trying online dating for almost a year now, and I have to say that the e-mails I receive I priceless (sometimes in a refreshing way, and sometimes in a ‘I’ll bet you have a dungeon in your mom’s basement’ kind of way). I’ve gone on a few dates with people who aren’t horrifying from the start, and if you’ve read my previous posts, you might wonder who I am turning away.

Well, I won't ignore that question and keep all of this joy to myself! That is just selfish and would lead to bad karma, which based on the type of men who seem to be interested in me, I already have.

Feast your eyes upon these tidbits (Writer’s Disclaimer: These are direct quotes, and I claim none of these - just the magical work of my potential suitors. My comments are in parenthesis. I don’t want to break any copyright laws. This is good stuff. The kind of romance coffee table books are made of … the kind of coffee table books that sit on coffee tables in hell.)

Subject: M’Lady (I’m not kidding!)

Text:

A Knight's Prayer For You:

Of all the sunsets and sunrises...
Of all the beautiful flowers that grow on this Earth..
Of all the stars that glow in the heavens and the
universe... you above all are more beautiful in my
eyes. No man has seen nor beheld such a Princess or
Goddess as I behold in you.
And I have now seen such beauty, warmth, and
grace... as I have seen the depths of your beautiful
soul.
But, alas my heart may never know the honor of
holding you, feeling the warmth of your kiss, or the
tenderness of your arms. Because of our age
difference...
my heart will be filled with the honor of having to
just behold your warmth and beauty within my dreams...
But will be saddened to wake in the mornings to find
you not there... Only in my dreams will we love,
laugh, and go through the adventures of life...
For you M'Lady... I wish you all the happiness, love
and joy that life has to offer, and that all your
hopes,
wishes and dreams will always come true for you...
I pray that you may honor me by us becoming
friends... and in time more...
But M'Lady, my Princess, I will honor your
desires... and will respect all your wishes...
But in my heart... you will forever be...
In all I have written M'Lady... I am very sincere...
and hope for that which may not be meant to
be...that we may find Camelot together...
By Your Leave M'Lady... and with the most honor and
respect I can give...
I remain., your Servant and Knight forever should
you ever have need of me...

Subject: It fits in a box
Text:

Is their more to life,
On this day,
Well if there is not
Then this poem, is wrong I say,

What is more to life?
Can you fit it in a box I say?
Could it really be that small
Today?,

Well here is the answer
Okay,
It fits in a box
You take my breath away.

Subject: Mmmmmm
Text: You are very descriptive.
(Now, I have to comment on this one. This was my description: 5’10”; long brown hair, hazel eyes, between curvy and a few extra pounds. It’s not like I described my birthmark and how flexible I am!)

Subject: Hey
Text: What are you doin tonigh (spelling optional)
(Important to note: this came in at 12:45am on a Tuesday. What do you think I’m doing?)

In today’s virtual world, I can’t help but wonder if we all feel free to unleash our crazy on perfect strangers. I mean, we sit behind our computers where no one can see us and freely type the first things that come to our minds. And, when dating in the virtual world, it seems to be easier to let your freak flag fly because rejection is minimal. After all, who would be heartbroken by someone simply not responding to an e-mail?

I dove into online dating because I work in a female-dominated industry and I’ve just about dated every single man my friends could set me up with. I’m still hopeful that mister right is out there, and I know that he won’t call me M’Lady, won’t try to fit me in a box (creepy), won’t send me subject lines where he sounds like he is reacting to yummy food, and would never hit a perfect stranger up for a booty call.

Yes, he is still out there (perhaps trolling through his own disappointing inbox tonight), but until we find each other, I’ll remain “Your Lady” (couldn’t help myself) workin’ the single scene.

Happy dating!

Gems From Dating in Atlanta

2009-09-22T14:49:00.000-07:00

No one is perfect, and dating in Atlanta is far from perfect. I’ve yet to find my Mr. Right, and I’m certain I’ve been Miss Wrong for many men on their search.

However, one perk to living in a crappy dating city is the interesting characters that each outing offers.

Now, I’m not going to take this opportunity to simply make fun of some of my recent dates. No, I will take this opportunity to make fun of them and provide constructive criticism to help others not do these things.

My most recent date was a man who seemed awkward from the start, but I gave him the benefit of the doubt. Before the date, I received a random text message from him (one of many that night) asking me if I had any last-minute questions before we got together the next evening. Well, deciding right at that moment that anyone who would send me this kind of text message is not the man for me, I responded with this: “Yes. Are you planning to kill me and make a skin dress out of me?”

And with that, let’s journey together through some of the precious gifts of my last four dates…Here are some tips – a free learning lesson, if you will:

- On a first date, don’t say things like: “My days of just trying to screw chicks are over. I’m not looking for that, I’m looking for something serious.” [Then while staring at my boobs] Although, sex with you wouldn’t be that bad.

-On a first date, don’t say: “You seem conservative. I’ll bet you don’t like porn.”

-When you first meet a woman, don’t get really drunk, pick your nose and then try to high-five her.

-On a first date, don’t tell the woman all about how your dad cheating on your mom led to their divorce and to her joining a support group that turned into a man-hating group that turned into a group of lesbians and “now she is leading an ‘alternative’ lifestyle.” If you aren’t comfortable with it, don’t spend a half hour trying to explain it. Take a pass on the story.

-On a first date, don’t tell the woman about the one-night stand you thought you had gotten pregnant.

And, I’ll throw one in from several years ago:

-On a first date, don’t try to convert the woman to scientology and tell her how Buffy the Vampire Slayer was the best TV. show ever and then invite her over to watch the entire series.

Again, I’m not perfect. I am, after all, the woman who had a bit too much on a date and busted out singing Ave Maria as if I were on stage somewhere. We all have our bad nights, but I seem to be the lighthouse that shines a light to all of the slightly-off men of Atlanta.

So, I’m curious, what are some of your bad dating moments? We all have them, but are we willing to own them.

I'm My Own Muse

2009-09-19T18:44:00.000-07:00

I’ve never had trouble running my mouth. I can tell a story and make a joke, but can I commit to writing it all down? We’ll see!

Welcome to I’m My Own Muse.

So, why is this blog called I’m My Own Muse? Well, I’ve always thought I was built for lounging and inspiring people. However, no one has discovered me as their muse yet, so I will just have to muse myself.

Therefore, I will sit in front of a roaring fire (even in the summer) and brush my long hair while reading poetry to myself. I will sculpt myself out of clay. I will stand outside of my own window holding up a boom box playing “In Your Eyes.” I will cry and journal about myself. I will send myself flowers, then keep one bud and press it in that book of poetry from which I will read to myself while brushing my hair. I will stare at myself longingly.

Yes, I am my own muse. A narcissist, perhaps (isn’t anyone who believes that others would care enough about her life to the point that she should have a blog kind of a narcissist?). However, I am willing to not only laugh at myself, but share my embarrassing moments with the world in hopes of making someone else laugh, so I should get some down-to-earth points for that!

So, here we go. Hopefully, someone will read this and I’ll become that person’s muse (not in a creepy, ‘John Walsh will tell my story one day’ kind of way, but in an Aleksandr Petrovsky, take me to Paris [but don’t accidentally slap me] kind of way. Until them, I’ll have to simply adore myself and hang on my every word!

Let’s do this! The Url is http://www.youshouldstartablog.blogspot.com/. Share it with your friends and join the conversation. I’d love to know what you think!