As another loveless year comes to an end, this is what the Jamie from December 31, 1993 had to say about true love in her black and white composition notebook, that she obviously did not use for academic purposes:
True love is a bond of love between two people who really care about each other. In their hearts there is a heart filled with love. A love so strong in their hearts that no one or nothing can break the power of love between them. That’s how I feel about Kevin. He is really funny and makes me laugh. He has spiky blonde hair. And a cute face. When I even think about him I get this feeling inside my heart that gives me confidence that I will see him again, that I will date him, that I will marry him, And will happily ever after forever together!
Kevin, if you are reading this, I am still waiting for you to make all my eleven year old dreams come true!
Playboy founder Hugh Hefner,84, is engaged to his girlfriend of two years, former Playmate Crystal Harris, 24. 60 years! How in the world can you grow old with someone who is already old?! And more importantly, between 4:30 early bird dinners and shuffleboard and “Wheel of Fortune” when did Hugh have time to update his life insurance policy?
Sherri Shepherd, co-host of ‘The View’, wrote a book. This is not news considering every lady on the panel has written a book. What is news to me is the fact that Sherri has had it rough in the love department. She got married to a man whom she had a kid with. This man later cheated on her with another woman. He knocked her up. She’s currently a single mom, finding strength in her faith and joy in her son. Her Permission to Date, Love, Marry and Divorce the Wrong Guy is funny, poignant and inspiring. Here are some pearls of her wisdom:
“Being single this time has taught me that sisters need to enjoy their season of singleness. Marriage is not the cure for loneliness; in fact, it’s often the cause. Whatever you are, you will attract”.
“My real-world suggestion for ever single woman out there is: Get yourself some property…nothing focuses your mind like a mortgage. When you have a home and a thirty-year commitment to a bank, suddenly you get real selective. Some guy lives with his mother? ‘Sorry, your mama and my mortgage payment don’t mix’. And when a guy says he’s serious, make him prove it. ‘You want me? Rake my leaves. Clean my pool filter. And pull that dead squirrel from under my porch’.”
“Like I’ve said before, I believe that God gives you a hole so you can fill it with Him”.
Is it a smidge blasphemous to want to strategically place fig leaves on my body and don a Santa hat to go as Christmas Eve for Halloween next year?
it would be 2 years old this week, stumbling around like a tiny drunk person, butchering the English language, demanding to watch Toy Story over and over and over again, embarrassing me in the supermarket with his high pitched sounds only dogs can hear, and riding my dog like a horse.
You see, it was two years ago that I was home for the holidays and had a lot of time on my hands. Flying the friendly skies meant that I was automatically regressed to being 17 years old as I had to rely on my parents’ wheels if I wanted to escape the house, not that I had any reason to because I didn’t have any friends. And still don’t. So I was left alone to rot my brain with tv, catch up on some novels, and be ushered into this new world of blogging.
I had no idea what I was going to write about. I had no theme. I had no goals. I wasn’t going to stop something for one year, nor was I going to start something for one year and document the process. I wasn’t going to cook my way through Julia Child’s cookbooks. I wasn’t going to write about my co-workers. I wasn’t going to have sex with my husband everyday for a year. I wasn’t going to stalk celebrities and critique their fashion choices. I wasn’t going to write down shit my dad said, although he did say a lot of shit.
I wanted to write about what was going on in my little world. I wrote about my travels, my dating life, my favorite books, random things that seem to ALWAYS happen to me, and more recently my dog. I’ve been writing for 2 years now on this thing and it’s hard to believe it was born out of boredom, like I’m sure a lot of real babies.
Horny teenage boy: I’m so bored! There’s nothing for us to do but have unprotected sex.
Amenable teenage girl: Okay!
$65,000 is how much a pregnant teenager gets paid to have her baby mama drama broadcasted on cable television for one season a la MTV’s “Sixteen and Pregnant”. If there was such a show ten years ago, I’m pretty sure I would have had gotten myself knocked up. $65,000 is a lot of money to a teenager. Think of all the Forever 21 loot you could buy. And gum!
Having a two year old blog is a lot of work. It demands SO much attention. And I’m just not ready to juggle a baby blog and a baby human. Unless the baby human comes out already computer-effecient and can serve as my guest blogger(because I’ve always wanted one of those). Then, and only then, would I consider having unprotected sex with anyone. And if there wasn’t anything on TV to watch.
I am Christmasing in Florida this year. It’s not as glamorous as you would think. It’s Cold, like 65 degrees cold. And I’ve got no one to hang out with since I have no friends, the side effect of my parents retiring to the Sunshine State after my high school graduation. So I hang out with my Mom and her friends. My Mom is 66 and she hangs out with ladies who are twenty years older, like spritely 83 year olds.
Yesterday, I was introduced to a couple of Mom’s gal pals over Coffee and Cookies. Topics of Conversation included Cataracts and Colonoscopies and C.R.S syndrome (can’t remember shit syndrome). I imagine that this would be the dialogue of ‘Sex and the City 5′.
Having no age-appropriate friends, I’m half-tempted to Change the search box on my match.com profile to include suitors who live within driving distance of my parents’ house. Failing that, my next option would be to prowl for some age-inappropriate guys, which is a pretty easy feat given the demographic. Although I can’t remember the last time I ate dinner at 4:3o and went to bed at 6. Wait a tic, that was what my last weekend looked like when I diagnosed myself with a case of 24 hour mono. I slept through dinner with my friend and didn’t wake up until 6 the next morning. ‘Tis the season for hiberation, and 24 hour mono.
Speaking of naps, I think I’ll take one now…on a bench…in the middle of the mall…snoring loudly.
It’s that time of year again. Time to spread Christmas cheer to the folks down South. This year, I had Ray with me so I at least had someone to appreciate my off-key renditions of “Silent Night”. Ray was hungry so I stopped to get us a snack at Georgia’s Kroger, which is conveniently the halfway point. Recalling my good fortune last summer with cans of Skyline chili at their Mrtlye Beach location, I tried my luck in the freezer section. Wonder of wonders Graeter’s seasonal pumpkin ice cream was staring back at me. It was a Christmas miracle to find Cincinnati fare hundreds of miles away! I shared some with my canine companion, who was busy fiddling with the radio when he was driving. Naturally, I don’t let him drive too often. I love my presets. Never in my life have I seen so many minivans with Canada plates. I wondered who was wrestling grizzly bears.
Sometimes I feel as if my parents like my dog more than they like me. This time last year, they couldn’t be bothered to unearth my Christmas stocking from a box in the garage, but lo and behold there’s a tiny stocking with Ray’s name on it this year. When my Dad said he was excited to get Ray home for the holidays, I suddenly felt naked without my chauffeur cap. I need to prepare myself now for Christmas morning when my dog gets better presents than me. I’m hoping that my parents will fall for the “Ray told me he wanted an iPad for Christmas” bit. We’ll just have to wait and see what happens Christmas morning.
I had a date Friday night with a guy who is totally NORMAL. I don’t care if he doesn’t call or email or skywrite again, I am beyond thrilled that there are normal 20 something guys roaming the streets of Charlotte. Guys who don’t immediately make me think of my ex, guys who don’t smell like locker rooms. This guy was awesome and I want to reward him with a glowing post-date review.
Bachelor #3 was from my hometown so we had oodles in common. At 26, he is a certifiable grown up in that he has a job and doesn’t live at home. He’s thoughtful in that he didn’t request a table at Philosopher’s Stone with a good view of whatever macho sporting event was on that evening. In fact, we grabbed the best table in the house, between two fake ivy plants, channeling Zach Galifianakis’ “Between Two Ferns”. This just in: Zach is from Wilkesboro, NC. And my date even made mention that one of his friends spotted the funny man dining at the Dish not too long ago. The best table in the house had a variety of board games on hand, Dirty Jenga being one of them. Dirty because some punk had drawn a penis on one of the tiles. And this time, that punk was not me. My date was so chivalrous when he let me win best two out of three. He even paid for my beverages, all three of them. I think if I had had one more, I would have been sucking his face in the parking lot. But we ended the evening with a hug and went our separate ways, and how. He had to trek up North for the holidays while I was venturing South.
Like I said, I don’t care if this guy communicates with me again, my faith is renewed in guys my age trolling the Internet for dates.
Today was the best day ever. The far-sighted librarian didn’t notice the dog chewed remains of Candace Bushnell’s ‘The Carrie Diaries’ when I returned it. Instead of having to pay $18.99 to replace a book, I’m going to use that money to buy beer.
Will write more later…