I graduated from college three weeks ago. After 23 years, I finally have a Bachelor's of Science in Marketing Management (I'll pause for applause ... thank you ... ).
I've been working on finishing my degree hard core for the past six years. I've passed up on parties (OK ... I didn't pass on too many parties), but my social and dating life definitely took a hit. I gladly sacrificed because finishing this leg of my education was so very, very important to me.
I'm so very, very proud of myself and my accomplishment, but now I'm overwhelmed with the feeling that there has to be more to life, or more specifically, more to MY life. What's next? I spent six years working so hard, something great has to come out of this, right?
I'm beginning to wonder what defines me. I'm no longer a student, I'm not a mother, I'm not a wife - what or who am I??
I feel like I need to figure out a way to be more of a citizen of the WORLD than just a "being."
I've been working on finishing this blog entry for three weeks and it still hasn't come together. My thoughts keep coming out in choppy sentences, so please forgive my lack of flow (and wit, apparently). I think I'll finish with bullet points ...
- My job does not fulfill, challenge or enlighten me. I need to be fulfilled, challenged and enlightened.
- I need to figure out what my "legacy" will be. It's unlikely I'll have children, so what will I leave behind? How will the world remember me?
- What can I do to be a better citizen of the world? There are so many people who "need." What can I do to help?
- Lastly, WTF is wrong with my stomach and why won't it quit churning? (OK, that really doesn't have anything to do with my philosophical introspection, but my stomach is currently jacked.)
Does anyone have any advice for good, ole Spiffy? Help me find my way through the forest of questions running through my head ...
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
Thursday, December 1, 2011
*Warning* Serious Shit Below. Seriously.
A local TV personality took his own life this week. What does that have to do with me? I wasn't directly affected by the loss, but it made me stop and reflect on my past struggles, so I thought I'd share.
My heart hurts to think about the pain he must have been in to finally make the decision to take his own life. On the outside he seemed happy, but I know that it's easy for people to mistake a happy face for a happy heart. Unfortunately, that's not always the case.
I'll start by letting you all know that I am not currently suffering from depression. I am not taking any medication and I'm happy with my life. This wasn't always the case.
In the late 90's, I think around 98-99, I was depressed. I couldn't figure out why or how to make it better and felt like if I told anyone, they'd think I was crazy. Unfortunately, I come from a long line of crazy women, so I was doomed to deal with it one day ... :)
I lived in a cool apartment, I had a good job, I was in great shape and I had a lot of friends. The problem was, I could barely make myself get out of bed and function in the morning. I was so sad, I just wanted to sleep, and actually fantasized about how nice it would be to just NOT wake up.
I never tried to take my life, but I seriously thought about it. Seriously.
I finally saw a doctor, sought therapy and started taking medication. It's hard to admit that I needed to take meds, but the fact is that depression is a REAL illness. Chemical imbalance isn't something that will just "miraculously" correct itself.
Eventually, things were once again "rosy" and I didn't need the meds any more. Unfortunately, a few years later I was hit with the life equivalent of a Mack truck when I suffered two miscarriages in the scope of a year. You talk about chemical imbalance! My hormones were FUCKED UP!
This time instead of sleeping my life away, I decided to self-destruct. I started smoking and drinking heavily, withdrew from my friends, and pushed my husband as far away from me as I could by cheating on him. I didn't feel worthy of his love or anyone's love for that matter, so I did my best to make sure people didn't like me, and it worked.
It took a couple of years to pull myself out of the hole I dug, but I finally did and I'm at peace with who I am today. I regret the mistakes that I made and how I treated my husband, friends and family, but I made it through and I still have my friends and family. The husband, well, he moved on ... :)
There was one friend in particular who stuck by me at my worst and didn't turn her back on me when I was VERY unloveable. My girl, Jennifer, never judged me, she always listened to me and helped me feel better about myself. I love you, Jen. :)
A few people have asked my why/how I can share so much about myself on my blog. Trust me, I don't share everything, but if I can tell a story that someone else may relate to, then I feel it's worth it.
We don't live in a bubble. We need to remember that our lives affect others, sometimes positively and sometimes negatively.
If you have a friend who is struggling with something in their life, reach out and offer them a shoulder to cry on or ear to bend. Let them know that you care about them. Do something, just don't turn your back on them when they need you most.
My heart hurts to think about the pain he must have been in to finally make the decision to take his own life. On the outside he seemed happy, but I know that it's easy for people to mistake a happy face for a happy heart. Unfortunately, that's not always the case.
I'll start by letting you all know that I am not currently suffering from depression. I am not taking any medication and I'm happy with my life. This wasn't always the case.
In the late 90's, I think around 98-99, I was depressed. I couldn't figure out why or how to make it better and felt like if I told anyone, they'd think I was crazy. Unfortunately, I come from a long line of crazy women, so I was doomed to deal with it one day ... :)
I lived in a cool apartment, I had a good job, I was in great shape and I had a lot of friends. The problem was, I could barely make myself get out of bed and function in the morning. I was so sad, I just wanted to sleep, and actually fantasized about how nice it would be to just NOT wake up.
I never tried to take my life, but I seriously thought about it. Seriously.
I finally saw a doctor, sought therapy and started taking medication. It's hard to admit that I needed to take meds, but the fact is that depression is a REAL illness. Chemical imbalance isn't something that will just "miraculously" correct itself.
Eventually, things were once again "rosy" and I didn't need the meds any more. Unfortunately, a few years later I was hit with the life equivalent of a Mack truck when I suffered two miscarriages in the scope of a year. You talk about chemical imbalance! My hormones were FUCKED UP!
This time instead of sleeping my life away, I decided to self-destruct. I started smoking and drinking heavily, withdrew from my friends, and pushed my husband as far away from me as I could by cheating on him. I didn't feel worthy of his love or anyone's love for that matter, so I did my best to make sure people didn't like me, and it worked.
It took a couple of years to pull myself out of the hole I dug, but I finally did and I'm at peace with who I am today. I regret the mistakes that I made and how I treated my husband, friends and family, but I made it through and I still have my friends and family. The husband, well, he moved on ... :)
There was one friend in particular who stuck by me at my worst and didn't turn her back on me when I was VERY unloveable. My girl, Jennifer, never judged me, she always listened to me and helped me feel better about myself. I love you, Jen. :)
A few people have asked my why/how I can share so much about myself on my blog. Trust me, I don't share everything, but if I can tell a story that someone else may relate to, then I feel it's worth it.
We don't live in a bubble. We need to remember that our lives affect others, sometimes positively and sometimes negatively.
If you have a friend who is struggling with something in their life, reach out and offer them a shoulder to cry on or ear to bend. Let them know that you care about them. Do something, just don't turn your back on them when they need you most.
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Um ... that's gross
I may have mentioned it previously, but I'm single. Yeah, I know ... shocking.
Apparently there are a lot of younger guys out there who are into older women. I hate to use the term "older" because it makes me think that dust is going to fly out of my vagina or something, but I've seriously been hit on by guys who could have been my son if I'd gotten knocked up in high school like so many people thought I would. ;)
So last night I was "chatting" with a guy who is 10 years younger than me. He claimed he didn't have some kind of fetish for older women or fantasy he was trying to fulfill, but instead was just attracted to older women. I believed him. For about 10 minutes.
Right out of the shoot he asks me my measurements. I told him it was none of his business (I didn't drop any "f bombs." I was still trying to let him think I'm a nice girl). He then asked me a lot of other personal questions, all leading back to when the last time I'd had sex and how old the person was. Very odd questions, all which I diverted like the nimble gazelle that I am ...
He then decided to share with me that he had an affair with his mom's best friend when he was 17 and she was 37. No biggie. Every kid's fantasy to get busy with their mom's hot friend. I can handle that one.
But then, right after he asked me how big MY boobs are, he mentioned that he'd bought his mom fake boobs for her birthday .... No kids, I'm not making this shit up.
I asked him why and he said because she had "always wanted them," and then bragged about how he "was the first one to see them after the surgery."
WHAT. THE. FUCK??!!
Am I the only one that thinks it is sick and wrong to: 1) pay for a boob job for your mom, and; 2) actually want to LOOK at your mom's new boobs, and; 3) brag about it??!!
I quickly ended that conversation with Captain Pervo and chalked that up to one more reason why I shouldn't date much younger men.
On a side note, "Mr. A," I'm still waiting for you to send me an e-mail so we can catch up. No fair hiding behind one-way comments. :) spiffychic3@gmail.com.
If anyone else wants to shoot me a message, I love random e-mails. They make me happy! Tell me what to write about if you have any ideas. I'm tired of bitching about my lack-of-dating life.
Peace out.
Apparently there are a lot of younger guys out there who are into older women. I hate to use the term "older" because it makes me think that dust is going to fly out of my vagina or something, but I've seriously been hit on by guys who could have been my son if I'd gotten knocked up in high school like so many people thought I would. ;)
So last night I was "chatting" with a guy who is 10 years younger than me. He claimed he didn't have some kind of fetish for older women or fantasy he was trying to fulfill, but instead was just attracted to older women. I believed him. For about 10 minutes.
Right out of the shoot he asks me my measurements. I told him it was none of his business (I didn't drop any "f bombs." I was still trying to let him think I'm a nice girl). He then asked me a lot of other personal questions, all leading back to when the last time I'd had sex and how old the person was. Very odd questions, all which I diverted like the nimble gazelle that I am ...
He then decided to share with me that he had an affair with his mom's best friend when he was 17 and she was 37. No biggie. Every kid's fantasy to get busy with their mom's hot friend. I can handle that one.
But then, right after he asked me how big MY boobs are, he mentioned that he'd bought his mom fake boobs for her birthday .... No kids, I'm not making this shit up.
I asked him why and he said because she had "always wanted them," and then bragged about how he "was the first one to see them after the surgery."
WHAT. THE. FUCK??!!
Am I the only one that thinks it is sick and wrong to: 1) pay for a boob job for your mom, and; 2) actually want to LOOK at your mom's new boobs, and; 3) brag about it??!!
I quickly ended that conversation with Captain Pervo and chalked that up to one more reason why I shouldn't date much younger men.
On a side note, "Mr. A," I'm still waiting for you to send me an e-mail so we can catch up. No fair hiding behind one-way comments. :) spiffychic3@gmail.com.
If anyone else wants to shoot me a message, I love random e-mails. They make me happy! Tell me what to write about if you have any ideas. I'm tired of bitching about my lack-of-dating life.
Peace out.
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Yes ... more dating stories ...
So, I feel like a broken record, but it's just the way my life is at the moment. I've got a lot of fucked up dating stories! Ready for another one? I thought so ...
I should first say that I have met some nice guys, just nothing that had me doodling hearts around his name or imagining what it would be like to ride his face like a wild stallion. But, I digress.
The first guy I'll call "Mr. Librarian" well, because, he was a librarian. Go ahead, laugh, but I thought I'd give it a try.
Mr. Librarian was a little awkward on the phone (ok, he was a lot awkward), but I chalked that up to nerves and thought it was kind of cute. What drew me to him you ask? His love of the band Soundgarden and playing bar trivia. Yep. I'm a sucker for music and obscure, trivial knowledge.
We met for dinner and the minute he walked in the door I knew it was going to be a painful dinner. He just simply wasn't my type. AT ALL. Regardless of our two commonalities. He was awkward and timid and jerky and had no sense of humor, whatsoever. It's a rarity when I'm not wisecracking every 10 minutes or so, and let's just say my librarian joke did not generate the laugh I'd expected ...
We finished dinner, parted ways and as I was driving down the street, he started calling me. I didn't answer, and he called AGAIN! This time he left a voicemail asking me out for the weekend. I had plans later that evening (yes, I double-booked with a better back-up plan that I've nicknamed "Meat," but I'll talk about him another day ... maybe), so I hadn't planned on letting him down until the next day.
Before I had a chance to call him, he texted me the next morning asking, "So, are you still interested or no?" Pushy much?? The answer, Mr. Librarian, is "NO!" I was nice about it, but told him the truth; our personalities are too different, plus I'm pretty sure he's still a virgin and I'm too old to train someone.
Moving on ... the next prospect I'll call "Freud" because he thought that since he spent four-years in college and ended up with an undergrad in psychology and a C average, that he was some kind of fucking genius who could analyze everything about me. Mistake numero uno.
I won tickets to a Social D show, so I asked him if he'd like to go. Pretty awesome first date with someone you've never met, huh? I figured we were in public place and I had a lot of friends who were going as well, so I was safe if he turned into some kind of freak.
He was attractive and kind of cool, but started analyzing my past relationships, my actions and intentions and then decided it was OK to start groping my ass a mere two hours after we'd met. Sorry, Freud. I have a strict eight hour rule. Deal. :)
At the end of the evening (after he'd drank half of the bar) he decided to ask me how much money I made and then proceeded to ask me where I spend my money. I kindly told him it was none of his fucking business how much I make or where I spend my money and right about then, I was ready to go home. He then told me his "strategy" was to get me agitated so my "heart rate would rise and I'd remember him." Like I said ... Freud, or should I say, fraud??
Well, his strategy worked enough for me to give it another chance, so we went out to dinner on Saturday. He didn't want to come to my house and pick me up because it would be "a pain" to find me, so we met at the restaurant. (Strike one).
Did I mention he drinks A LOT? Well he started complaining about how he couldn't get drunk because he'd eaten (like it's a normal goal to get shit faced no matter where you go - Strike two) and then proceeded to tell me sordid tales from his youthful attempts at cat burglary. I guess he thought if he painted himself out to be a "bad boy" it would get me all lathered up. It didn't work.
He also thought it was appropriate to grab my ass and comment on its "firmness" and try to literally dry hump me in the middle of the bar. STEEEERIKE THREE! You're OUT! Note to potential future dates: I am not a prude and I appreciate public displays of affection, but do NOT think for one second you can maul me in public and make me look like a fucking floozy fool and that it's OK. It's NOT OK!
I finally got out from under that bullshit and politely told him that we were just too different. I didn't feel the need to berate him or humiliate him, just to get rid of him. I will admit, though, that I've saved his voicemail messages to listen to when I need a good laugh and in case he turns into a stalker. Thank you Jesus he didn't come pick me up!!
I think Spiffy is going to lay low on the dating scene for a while. I don't think my heart and head can take much more of it. Someone once wrote that (online) dating is like opening the refrigerator over and over again, expecting to see something new and discovering it's the same, old leftovers.
I'm tired of leftovers. I think I'll stick with my single-serving meals and side of Meat for a while ... :)
I should first say that I have met some nice guys, just nothing that had me doodling hearts around his name or imagining what it would be like to ride his face like a wild stallion. But, I digress.
The first guy I'll call "Mr. Librarian" well, because, he was a librarian. Go ahead, laugh, but I thought I'd give it a try.
Mr. Librarian was a little awkward on the phone (ok, he was a lot awkward), but I chalked that up to nerves and thought it was kind of cute. What drew me to him you ask? His love of the band Soundgarden and playing bar trivia. Yep. I'm a sucker for music and obscure, trivial knowledge.
We met for dinner and the minute he walked in the door I knew it was going to be a painful dinner. He just simply wasn't my type. AT ALL. Regardless of our two commonalities. He was awkward and timid and jerky and had no sense of humor, whatsoever. It's a rarity when I'm not wisecracking every 10 minutes or so, and let's just say my librarian joke did not generate the laugh I'd expected ...
We finished dinner, parted ways and as I was driving down the street, he started calling me. I didn't answer, and he called AGAIN! This time he left a voicemail asking me out for the weekend. I had plans later that evening (yes, I double-booked with a better back-up plan that I've nicknamed "Meat," but I'll talk about him another day ... maybe), so I hadn't planned on letting him down until the next day.
Before I had a chance to call him, he texted me the next morning asking, "So, are you still interested or no?" Pushy much?? The answer, Mr. Librarian, is "NO!" I was nice about it, but told him the truth; our personalities are too different, plus I'm pretty sure he's still a virgin and I'm too old to train someone.
Moving on ... the next prospect I'll call "Freud" because he thought that since he spent four-years in college and ended up with an undergrad in psychology and a C average, that he was some kind of fucking genius who could analyze everything about me. Mistake numero uno.
I won tickets to a Social D show, so I asked him if he'd like to go. Pretty awesome first date with someone you've never met, huh? I figured we were in public place and I had a lot of friends who were going as well, so I was safe if he turned into some kind of freak.
He was attractive and kind of cool, but started analyzing my past relationships, my actions and intentions and then decided it was OK to start groping my ass a mere two hours after we'd met. Sorry, Freud. I have a strict eight hour rule. Deal. :)
At the end of the evening (after he'd drank half of the bar) he decided to ask me how much money I made and then proceeded to ask me where I spend my money. I kindly told him it was none of his fucking business how much I make or where I spend my money and right about then, I was ready to go home. He then told me his "strategy" was to get me agitated so my "heart rate would rise and I'd remember him." Like I said ... Freud, or should I say, fraud??
Well, his strategy worked enough for me to give it another chance, so we went out to dinner on Saturday. He didn't want to come to my house and pick me up because it would be "a pain" to find me, so we met at the restaurant. (Strike one).
Did I mention he drinks A LOT? Well he started complaining about how he couldn't get drunk because he'd eaten (like it's a normal goal to get shit faced no matter where you go - Strike two) and then proceeded to tell me sordid tales from his youthful attempts at cat burglary. I guess he thought if he painted himself out to be a "bad boy" it would get me all lathered up. It didn't work.
He also thought it was appropriate to grab my ass and comment on its "firmness" and try to literally dry hump me in the middle of the bar. STEEEERIKE THREE! You're OUT! Note to potential future dates: I am not a prude and I appreciate public displays of affection, but do NOT think for one second you can maul me in public and make me look like a fucking floozy fool and that it's OK. It's NOT OK!
I finally got out from under that bullshit and politely told him that we were just too different. I didn't feel the need to berate him or humiliate him, just to get rid of him. I will admit, though, that I've saved his voicemail messages to listen to when I need a good laugh and in case he turns into a stalker. Thank you Jesus he didn't come pick me up!!
I think Spiffy is going to lay low on the dating scene for a while. I don't think my heart and head can take much more of it. Someone once wrote that (online) dating is like opening the refrigerator over and over again, expecting to see something new and discovering it's the same, old leftovers.
I'm tired of leftovers. I think I'll stick with my single-serving meals and side of Meat for a while ... :)
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Olives.They're so delicious and made for pizza ...
OK, OK! I know it's been a while since I've written. I've had writers block, been really swamped with homework and, quite honestly, have been feeling like I'm sharing a little too much of my twisted brain.
Sometimes I feel naked and while that's great in the shower, during sexy time or at 2 a.m. Saturday on my deck, it's not a great feeling when you're trying to write. Now that I've told you my favorite times to be naked, it's time to share. Pull up a chair, won't you?
So we all know that I've been trying my hand at online dating for quite some time and that I haven't had much luck. Well, at the beginning of September I met a guy and I actually dug him. I could stand being around him for more than 10 minutes; I let him into my personal space on our first date (no, not my pants, sicko), and I wasn't annoyed by him. This was a big deal. Just ask my girlfriends who think I'm way too analytical and picky. :)
Well, what goes up, must come down, right? We finally hit the 30 day mark which, in my opinion, is "do or die" time. You either decide you want to date the person exclusively or you decide to move on. Now, I'll segue to what I will forever refer to as "the olive incident."
We decided we were going to chill out at my place and watch a couple of movies. One that he wanted me to see and one that I wanted him to see. I bought some beer (his favorite beer, mind you), rented the movies and I even bought him his favorite flavored fucking cupcake! (Deep breath. Move on.)
We discussed pizza and he told me that he didn't like olives. I ordered the pizza, but I was a little buzzed and mentally drained from the day and forgot to tell them to take the olives off the pizza. He reminded me of that fact when I got off the phone, so I apologized and told him we could just pick them off. Sounds reasonable to me, right? I LIKE OLIVES! (Deap breath. Move on.)
So when we got the pizza, I MANUALLY picked every fucking olive off of his three pieces of pizza. He was quiet while we ate except the one time he decided to break the silence and tell me I was bossy (What? You just figured that out??) and then to tell me that if it was me and I didn't like olives, he would have called them back and told them to take the olives off, but since I didn't do that, I was basically telling him to suck it up and deal with it. Hmmmm ....
As you can all tell, the evening did NOT end as I'd originally planned. At that point he told me he didn't feel the "spark" with me that he should and he still wanted to meet other women. I told him to leave, he left, end of story.
I was pretty hurt and pissed about it for a few days, but it's time to move on. I'm pretty sure he's not sitting around dwelling, so I refuse to let him take up space in my head and my heart without paying rent! Now I sound like Oprah. "YOU get olives and YOU get olives and YOU get olives!!! EVERYBODY GETS OLIVES!!!" (Only true Oprah fans will get that. Sorry...).
Regardless of the number of bad first dates or relationship sparks that fizzle, I still hold onto hope that there's someone out there who can handle all of my Spiffiness and who will meet at least 3 of my 4 major needs. :)
NEXT!
Sometimes I feel naked and while that's great in the shower, during sexy time or at 2 a.m. Saturday on my deck, it's not a great feeling when you're trying to write. Now that I've told you my favorite times to be naked, it's time to share. Pull up a chair, won't you?
So we all know that I've been trying my hand at online dating for quite some time and that I haven't had much luck. Well, at the beginning of September I met a guy and I actually dug him. I could stand being around him for more than 10 minutes; I let him into my personal space on our first date (no, not my pants, sicko), and I wasn't annoyed by him. This was a big deal. Just ask my girlfriends who think I'm way too analytical and picky. :)
Well, what goes up, must come down, right? We finally hit the 30 day mark which, in my opinion, is "do or die" time. You either decide you want to date the person exclusively or you decide to move on. Now, I'll segue to what I will forever refer to as "the olive incident."
We decided we were going to chill out at my place and watch a couple of movies. One that he wanted me to see and one that I wanted him to see. I bought some beer (his favorite beer, mind you), rented the movies and I even bought him his favorite flavored fucking cupcake! (Deep breath. Move on.)
We discussed pizza and he told me that he didn't like olives. I ordered the pizza, but I was a little buzzed and mentally drained from the day and forgot to tell them to take the olives off the pizza. He reminded me of that fact when I got off the phone, so I apologized and told him we could just pick them off. Sounds reasonable to me, right? I LIKE OLIVES! (Deap breath. Move on.)
So when we got the pizza, I MANUALLY picked every fucking olive off of his three pieces of pizza. He was quiet while we ate except the one time he decided to break the silence and tell me I was bossy (What? You just figured that out??) and then to tell me that if it was me and I didn't like olives, he would have called them back and told them to take the olives off, but since I didn't do that, I was basically telling him to suck it up and deal with it. Hmmmm ....
As you can all tell, the evening did NOT end as I'd originally planned. At that point he told me he didn't feel the "spark" with me that he should and he still wanted to meet other women. I told him to leave, he left, end of story.
I was pretty hurt and pissed about it for a few days, but it's time to move on. I'm pretty sure he's not sitting around dwelling, so I refuse to let him take up space in my head and my heart without paying rent! Now I sound like Oprah. "YOU get olives and YOU get olives and YOU get olives!!! EVERYBODY GETS OLIVES!!!" (Only true Oprah fans will get that. Sorry...).
Regardless of the number of bad first dates or relationship sparks that fizzle, I still hold onto hope that there's someone out there who can handle all of my Spiffiness and who will meet at least 3 of my 4 major needs. :)
NEXT!
Sunday, September 11, 2011
I remember...
Ten years ago I was 31 years old, working as an insurance agent for AAA. I was sitting in my office early the morning of September 11th, trying to talk myself into making it through another day at a job that I hated. I was in a shitty mood and didn't feel like talking to anyone.
Someone walked by my office and told me to come into the kitchen to watch what was happening on TV, and that's about all that I remember. Except that we all got to go home early (yippee).
Back in those days, I was often hoggishly detached from anything that didn't affect me directly. If it didn't happen to "me," then I chose not to "feel" it. Newsflash: Spiffy was selfish.
I remember watching the plane hit the tower and eventually the towers fall. It all seemed so surreal to me; like it wasn't really happening. I mean, how could something that looked like a blockbuster hit starring Bruce Willis and Nicholas Cage really be happening, for REAL??
A couple of weeks after 9/11, I was listening to the morning show of my then favorite radio station, e105. Joe from "The Joe Show" was talking about how he was a big hair-band freak back in the 80's which immediately connected with me. I, too, was an 80's hair-band fanatic who sported a killer red coif that I kept in prime shape with a hair dryer and Aqua Net.
He mentioned they were holding a radio contest and winners would get a round-trip, all expenses paid trip to New York City. All I had to do was tell him why I was the biggest 80's hair-band fanatic and I'd win ... so I did ... and I WON!
I took my friend Kristen with me on a trip that forever changed my life. Not only because of the experience of seeing Ground Zero only a month after the attack, but because of the people that I met on that trip who I still hold dear to my heart. There are so many great people who are now in my life who wouldn't have been in my life had the 9-11 attacks not happened. I guess that's my silver lining in the dark cloud.
Tragic events affect everyone, whether or not they are in touch enough with their emotions to admit it. I tried not to "feel" much back then, so it took a radio station trip to New York City for the reality to really sink in.
Standing in front of Saint Patrick's Cathedral in Manhattan, watching the funeral procession for one of the fallen firefighters, Patty Brown, was a moment I will never forget. You could hear a pin drop as the firefighters marched down the road, led by bag pipes. The entire city was silent in tribute. It was awesome and sad and beautiful all at the same time.
Ten years later, I sat and cried this morning as I listened to Paul Simon sing Sounds of Silence. I relived the morning of 9-11-01 while watching a feature on NatGeo this evening. I chose to feel the pain of others while I watched.
I really tried to imagine the pain of talking to a loved one on the phone and knowing that it was likely the last time you'd ever hear their voice. I imagined the terror those poor people felt as they ran through the streets of Manhattan in a futile attempt to avoid the rolling cloud of debris. I imagined the despair someone must have felt to have to choose between burning to death or jumping out of a building.
Needless to say, my heart aches tonight.
Someone walked by my office and told me to come into the kitchen to watch what was happening on TV, and that's about all that I remember. Except that we all got to go home early (yippee).
Back in those days, I was often hoggishly detached from anything that didn't affect me directly. If it didn't happen to "me," then I chose not to "feel" it. Newsflash: Spiffy was selfish.
I remember watching the plane hit the tower and eventually the towers fall. It all seemed so surreal to me; like it wasn't really happening. I mean, how could something that looked like a blockbuster hit starring Bruce Willis and Nicholas Cage really be happening, for REAL??
A couple of weeks after 9/11, I was listening to the morning show of my then favorite radio station, e105. Joe from "The Joe Show" was talking about how he was a big hair-band freak back in the 80's which immediately connected with me. I, too, was an 80's hair-band fanatic who sported a killer red coif that I kept in prime shape with a hair dryer and Aqua Net.
He mentioned they were holding a radio contest and winners would get a round-trip, all expenses paid trip to New York City. All I had to do was tell him why I was the biggest 80's hair-band fanatic and I'd win ... so I did ... and I WON!
I took my friend Kristen with me on a trip that forever changed my life. Not only because of the experience of seeing Ground Zero only a month after the attack, but because of the people that I met on that trip who I still hold dear to my heart. There are so many great people who are now in my life who wouldn't have been in my life had the 9-11 attacks not happened. I guess that's my silver lining in the dark cloud.
Tragic events affect everyone, whether or not they are in touch enough with their emotions to admit it. I tried not to "feel" much back then, so it took a radio station trip to New York City for the reality to really sink in.
Standing in front of Saint Patrick's Cathedral in Manhattan, watching the funeral procession for one of the fallen firefighters, Patty Brown, was a moment I will never forget. You could hear a pin drop as the firefighters marched down the road, led by bag pipes. The entire city was silent in tribute. It was awesome and sad and beautiful all at the same time.
Ten years later, I sat and cried this morning as I listened to Paul Simon sing Sounds of Silence. I relived the morning of 9-11-01 while watching a feature on NatGeo this evening. I chose to feel the pain of others while I watched.
I really tried to imagine the pain of talking to a loved one on the phone and knowing that it was likely the last time you'd ever hear their voice. I imagined the terror those poor people felt as they ran through the streets of Manhattan in a futile attempt to avoid the rolling cloud of debris. I imagined the despair someone must have felt to have to choose between burning to death or jumping out of a building.
Needless to say, my heart aches tonight.
Saturday, September 3, 2011
Be Vewy, Vewy, Qwiet...
Dating in your 40's is difficult. Meeting single men who you're attracted to and are honestly interested in getting to know you and not just getting to know the inside of your vagina is quite difficult. I mean, I'm sure my vagina is very interesting and inviting, but so is my mind. :)
I may have mentioned that I started online dating again a few months back. I've had A LOT of first dates and only one second date and that second date turned out to be with a guy who has a history of domestic abuse. Needless to say it didn't lead to a third date.
Well, I had a great first date last night that will hopefully lead to an even better second and then, well, let's be honest...I would like to eventually introduce him to my vagina.
This guy, we'll call him "Kung Fu," was cool, interesting, different and slightly odd, and pretty easy on the eyes. All important qualities to Spiffy Chick. I did get the feeling, though, that he may have some commitment phobia. I can point fingers because I, too, may have a touch of the phobia.
My view on dating is that if I meet someone who I'm attracted to, find interesting and enjoy sharing space with, I would like to focus my energy on that person. That feeling is so rare that when I find it in someone who I can tolerate for an entire evening without wanting to make up a fake illness, I'd like to prolong the feeling.
I'm not saying that after the first date he should give me his class ring and letter jacket or that I'll promise my virginity to him (shut up). I'm just saying that I find it easier to focus on one guy at a time...OK, maximum of two guys at a time.
Kung Fu told me that (paraphrasing) while he liked me and that he wanted to see me again, he was still going to be out "hunting" for other girls to date. If and when we decided to start introducing our girl and boy parts to each other, THEN he would stop the hunt.
My question to you: do all guys constantly think that that there is something better around the corner, and if they stop hunting they'll settle for something "slightly less" than what they could have had? Do men ever grow up and out of this delusion? Does that extra shot of testosterone flowing around their veins make then think that by settling down, that they will eventually whither and die?
Know that I'm not one of those girls who generalizes all men. I know that not all men are commitment phobes. Only the men that I'm attracted to, apparently.
So I've decided that if Kung Fu wants to hunt, then I'm going to keep hunting as well. Afterall, I've always wanted to be a warrior like Itzpapalotl, the "clawed butterfly," and I can rock a loin cloth if necessary.
Plus, there's this other guy, "GI Joe," who has potential...
I may have mentioned that I started online dating again a few months back. I've had A LOT of first dates and only one second date and that second date turned out to be with a guy who has a history of domestic abuse. Needless to say it didn't lead to a third date.
Well, I had a great first date last night that will hopefully lead to an even better second and then, well, let's be honest...I would like to eventually introduce him to my vagina.
This guy, we'll call him "Kung Fu," was cool, interesting, different and slightly odd, and pretty easy on the eyes. All important qualities to Spiffy Chick. I did get the feeling, though, that he may have some commitment phobia. I can point fingers because I, too, may have a touch of the phobia.
My view on dating is that if I meet someone who I'm attracted to, find interesting and enjoy sharing space with, I would like to focus my energy on that person. That feeling is so rare that when I find it in someone who I can tolerate for an entire evening without wanting to make up a fake illness, I'd like to prolong the feeling.
I'm not saying that after the first date he should give me his class ring and letter jacket or that I'll promise my virginity to him (shut up). I'm just saying that I find it easier to focus on one guy at a time...OK, maximum of two guys at a time.
Kung Fu told me that (paraphrasing) while he liked me and that he wanted to see me again, he was still going to be out "hunting" for other girls to date. If and when we decided to start introducing our girl and boy parts to each other, THEN he would stop the hunt.
My question to you: do all guys constantly think that that there is something better around the corner, and if they stop hunting they'll settle for something "slightly less" than what they could have had? Do men ever grow up and out of this delusion? Does that extra shot of testosterone flowing around their veins make then think that by settling down, that they will eventually whither and die?
Know that I'm not one of those girls who generalizes all men. I know that not all men are commitment phobes. Only the men that I'm attracted to, apparently.
So I've decided that if Kung Fu wants to hunt, then I'm going to keep hunting as well. Afterall, I've always wanted to be a warrior like Itzpapalotl, the "clawed butterfly," and I can rock a loin cloth if necessary.
Plus, there's this other guy, "GI Joe," who has potential...
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
If I Were a Boy...
Tonight I've decided to talk about something guys love and girls should probably love a little more - blow jobs.
Yes, tonight's blog is dedicated to mouth lovin', knob slobbin', head, BJs, felatio, hummers, Lewinskis, playin' the skin flute, smokin' pole...you get the picture.
As a girl, I know my opinion on the subject - you give, you get. How long you get depends on a few things, like are you trying to slowly push my head down or arrange your genitals to be in the general vacinity of my face? Sorry, you may get bitten. (All male readers suddenly went from a semi-chubby thinking about a BJ to complete flacidity thinking about being bitten. Yes, I made up the word "flacidity." :)
I thought I'd ask one of my guy friends his opinion on mouth lovin'. Granted, this particular friend has issues expressing his emotions and actually emotionally connecting to a woman, but he's a good guy and an avid fan of Spiffy. He's kind of the male version of Spiffy. He's who I would be in an alternate universe if I turned into a dude. Well, kind of. :)
Anyway...moving on. My question to "Alternate Universe Spiffy," or AUS, was whether he found it sexy when a girl looked up at him while she was giving him the business or if he'd rather just look at the top of her head?
I'm really not sure why I even asked him that question because I knew the answer and he didn't disappoint me. AUS said, and I quote, "I don't spend my time staring but when I do look down, eye contact is normally just strange and leads to everyone making fake porno faces...which can on occasion damper the moment." He went on to close his sexist statement by saying, "A good blow jobber needs to get to work. Looking up seems needy and can sometimes be pathetic. Concentrate on what's important - my junk."
Ah...gotta love AUS...makes me want to give a thousand hummers to guys just like him! :) xoxo
Another good guy friend of mine once told me that there isn't anything better than a "good old, sloppy BJ." The term just puts visions of spit-laden pubic hair and a large wet spot on the bed. Neither of which are sexy thoughts. But then again...I'm not a dude!
So what is it about BJs that guys love so much? Is it that they don't actually have to look at who is pleasuring them? That they can get lost in the fantasy of the moment? Or is it a control issue? Or maybe, JUST MAYBE, I'm overanalyzing the entire thought process and it really is just because it feels good? I mean, come on. I'm never one to over analyze...
Girls, what are your thoughts? Guys, care to share your opinions?
I'm a little scared about the feedback I'll get on this blog, but I promised AUS I'd offer a "male Spiffy" perspective on something and this is what I came up with.
At least I didn't ask your opinion of the shocker...
Yes, tonight's blog is dedicated to mouth lovin', knob slobbin', head, BJs, felatio, hummers, Lewinskis, playin' the skin flute, smokin' pole...you get the picture.
As a girl, I know my opinion on the subject - you give, you get. How long you get depends on a few things, like are you trying to slowly push my head down or arrange your genitals to be in the general vacinity of my face? Sorry, you may get bitten. (All male readers suddenly went from a semi-chubby thinking about a BJ to complete flacidity thinking about being bitten. Yes, I made up the word "flacidity." :)
I thought I'd ask one of my guy friends his opinion on mouth lovin'. Granted, this particular friend has issues expressing his emotions and actually emotionally connecting to a woman, but he's a good guy and an avid fan of Spiffy. He's kind of the male version of Spiffy. He's who I would be in an alternate universe if I turned into a dude. Well, kind of. :)
Anyway...moving on. My question to "Alternate Universe Spiffy," or AUS, was whether he found it sexy when a girl looked up at him while she was giving him the business or if he'd rather just look at the top of her head?
I'm really not sure why I even asked him that question because I knew the answer and he didn't disappoint me. AUS said, and I quote, "I don't spend my time staring but when I do look down, eye contact is normally just strange and leads to everyone making fake porno faces...which can on occasion damper the moment." He went on to close his sexist statement by saying, "A good blow jobber needs to get to work. Looking up seems needy and can sometimes be pathetic. Concentrate on what's important - my junk."
Ah...gotta love AUS...makes me want to give a thousand hummers to guys just like him! :) xoxo
Another good guy friend of mine once told me that there isn't anything better than a "good old, sloppy BJ." The term just puts visions of spit-laden pubic hair and a large wet spot on the bed. Neither of which are sexy thoughts. But then again...I'm not a dude!
So what is it about BJs that guys love so much? Is it that they don't actually have to look at who is pleasuring them? That they can get lost in the fantasy of the moment? Or is it a control issue? Or maybe, JUST MAYBE, I'm overanalyzing the entire thought process and it really is just because it feels good? I mean, come on. I'm never one to over analyze...
Girls, what are your thoughts? Guys, care to share your opinions?
I'm a little scared about the feedback I'll get on this blog, but I promised AUS I'd offer a "male Spiffy" perspective on something and this is what I came up with.
At least I didn't ask your opinion of the shocker...
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
More Random Thoughts...
My 12.5 fans seem to like it when I post "random thoughts" and since I can't seem to form an entire thought tonight...BACK, BY SEMI-POPULAR DEMAND... it's "Spiffy's Random Thoughts"! Otherwise known as a typical day in my mind.
- I like the view from my new deck. I'm on the third floor which is far enough up that wanna be burglars or guys named Kenny with bad teeth can't get in, but close enough that I wouldn't turn into Spiffy Soup if I had to jump. You know, if there was a fire or snake attack of some sort.
- I met a guy named Heath from Albuquerque, NM a couple of weeks ago who was one of the coolest guys I've ever met. Not to mention, the BEST kisser *sigh*. Of course, he was only here for the weekend and I'll never see him again. Fate hates me. I think of you every time I hear Radiohead, Heath... "I don't want to be your friend. I just want to be your lover. No matter how it ends. No matter how it starts." I'm wrapping this thought up and sending it out to the universe, "I'm really glad I met you, even if it was for a moment. You made a lasting impression on me. Thank you."
- Proof that looks are only a small percentage of the "attraction factor," I noticed this guy who was boarding my flight from Atlanta to KC last weekend. He was nice to look at, so I looked at him (sue me). Unfortunately I sat behind him on the plane and had to listen to him drone on about himself to the guy next to him for two hours. Check off one more guy from my spank-bank.
- I'm pretty sure I saw an actual white-supremacist at the gym yesterday. No shit. I've seen plenty movie renditions, but this guy was working out on the Nautilus equipment, proudly his pale, bald head and displaying his hate message tattoos. There were three words, one down the back of each arm and one across the back of his neck. I think they were, "Act, Eradicate, Dominate," or some shit like that. Seriously, I had to keep myself from staring at him because I was afraid he'd know that I've had relations with a black guy and immediately hold some sort of white-supremacist grudge against me and try to kill me. Or, at the very least, carve a swastika into my boob.
- Speaking of the gym, what's up with guys wearing black dress looking socks up to their mid-calf along with tennis shoes and shorts? I bet I saw at least five guys sporting this look at the gym yesterday. Is this some new fashion statement that I wasn't privy to? Hey guys, guess what? It's not hot. It looks like you're channelling your inner grandpa and if there's one thing I've yet to find hot it's old balls and loose skin. Loose balls, sure. Just not old.
- And finally, I thought you should all know that I never heard from Hot Dad. *heavy sigh* Oh well, his loss, right? But on a positive note, I've never heard back from Yuck-mouth Kenny, either. You win some, you lose some, right?!
- I like the view from my new deck. I'm on the third floor which is far enough up that wanna be burglars or guys named Kenny with bad teeth can't get in, but close enough that I wouldn't turn into Spiffy Soup if I had to jump. You know, if there was a fire or snake attack of some sort.
- I met a guy named Heath from Albuquerque, NM a couple of weeks ago who was one of the coolest guys I've ever met. Not to mention, the BEST kisser *sigh*. Of course, he was only here for the weekend and I'll never see him again. Fate hates me. I think of you every time I hear Radiohead, Heath... "I don't want to be your friend. I just want to be your lover. No matter how it ends. No matter how it starts." I'm wrapping this thought up and sending it out to the universe, "I'm really glad I met you, even if it was for a moment. You made a lasting impression on me. Thank you."
- Proof that looks are only a small percentage of the "attraction factor," I noticed this guy who was boarding my flight from Atlanta to KC last weekend. He was nice to look at, so I looked at him (sue me). Unfortunately I sat behind him on the plane and had to listen to him drone on about himself to the guy next to him for two hours. Check off one more guy from my spank-bank.
- I'm pretty sure I saw an actual white-supremacist at the gym yesterday. No shit. I've seen plenty movie renditions, but this guy was working out on the Nautilus equipment, proudly his pale, bald head and displaying his hate message tattoos. There were three words, one down the back of each arm and one across the back of his neck. I think they were, "Act, Eradicate, Dominate," or some shit like that. Seriously, I had to keep myself from staring at him because I was afraid he'd know that I've had relations with a black guy and immediately hold some sort of white-supremacist grudge against me and try to kill me. Or, at the very least, carve a swastika into my boob.
- Speaking of the gym, what's up with guys wearing black dress looking socks up to their mid-calf along with tennis shoes and shorts? I bet I saw at least five guys sporting this look at the gym yesterday. Is this some new fashion statement that I wasn't privy to? Hey guys, guess what? It's not hot. It looks like you're channelling your inner grandpa and if there's one thing I've yet to find hot it's old balls and loose skin. Loose balls, sure. Just not old.
- And finally, I thought you should all know that I never heard from Hot Dad. *heavy sigh* Oh well, his loss, right? But on a positive note, I've never heard back from Yuck-mouth Kenny, either. You win some, you lose some, right?!
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
What the Eff Just Happened??
About an hour and a half ago, I lost a friend that I've had for over 25 years. Not lost as in she "died," but she's now officially dead to me, so I guess she did kind of die.
Shawna and I have been friends since sixth grade. We've grown up together and like everyone, have changed a lot over the years. Well, I can say that I've changed a lot over the years but I'm not so sure about her after tonight.
Our lives have gone in separate directions over the years, but we've always managed to keep at least a pinky finger in each other's door. We met for dinner and drinks tonight for what I thought was some much needed time to catch up and shoot the shit. Apparently she felt it was the perfect time to lay an all out assault on my integrity and make me feel like shit about things that happened years, and I mean YEARS ago.
So my question to you is this; is it normal to hold on to things that may (or may not) have happened so many years ago? Is it appropriate to berate your friend in a public place and tell her how shitty you felt she treated you years ago? Is it the act of a sane woman when she tells you that you, personally, are the reason she doesn't have certain friends anymore because you drove a wedge in between them, all the while telling you how much she loves and misses you and "will never let you go"?
What just happened to me tonight was one of the most surreal, odd and sad experiences I've ever had. I had so many conflicting emotions thrown at me in a short period, I thought that Carrie may have possessed her body. (That's a 70's horror flick reference for my young readers.)
I'm not sure what she felt she'd gain by picking a fight with me in a public place because she felt I "needed to know" the information, but she didn't gain anything. Instead she lost a life-long friend because, quite frankly, I don't need the drama or bullshit in my life. Period. THAT Shawna is the reason why my life is what it is today. Because I no longer put up with unnecessary bullshit or the people that bring it to me.
So, just in case there was an inch of truth in the smite she spewed at me this evening, I'd like to offer a formal apology to my friends.
If you've ever felt that I placed a wedge in between you and anyone else, I'm sorry. If you've ever felt like I "get whatever I want," I'm sorry. If you're still holding on to something I may have said about you or to you 20 years ago, well that's your fucking problem. Get over it. :)
In all seriousness, she put a dent in my heart tonight. I'm not sure where her anger came from, but apparently it's something she's held onto for years. I love all of my friends for who they are, differences or not, sanity or lack thereof.
She made me question my TOTAL BEING and I don't like that feeling. I'm all about introspection and self-reflection, but I've long since given up on self-destruction and I will not go back there. In the end, the ONLY person I can count on is myself and I believe in myself, Shawna. I'm sorry if you can't say the same about yourself but that IS NOT my fault.
So I was going to blog about this great guy that I met at Kanrocksas over the weekend and how fate (once again) teased me with something and then took it away from me, but then this happened and I felt I needed to get it off my chest.
I'll tell you all about Mr. Hot Lips another day. :)
Shawna and I have been friends since sixth grade. We've grown up together and like everyone, have changed a lot over the years. Well, I can say that I've changed a lot over the years but I'm not so sure about her after tonight.
Our lives have gone in separate directions over the years, but we've always managed to keep at least a pinky finger in each other's door. We met for dinner and drinks tonight for what I thought was some much needed time to catch up and shoot the shit. Apparently she felt it was the perfect time to lay an all out assault on my integrity and make me feel like shit about things that happened years, and I mean YEARS ago.
So my question to you is this; is it normal to hold on to things that may (or may not) have happened so many years ago? Is it appropriate to berate your friend in a public place and tell her how shitty you felt she treated you years ago? Is it the act of a sane woman when she tells you that you, personally, are the reason she doesn't have certain friends anymore because you drove a wedge in between them, all the while telling you how much she loves and misses you and "will never let you go"?
What just happened to me tonight was one of the most surreal, odd and sad experiences I've ever had. I had so many conflicting emotions thrown at me in a short period, I thought that Carrie may have possessed her body. (That's a 70's horror flick reference for my young readers.)
I'm not sure what she felt she'd gain by picking a fight with me in a public place because she felt I "needed to know" the information, but she didn't gain anything. Instead she lost a life-long friend because, quite frankly, I don't need the drama or bullshit in my life. Period. THAT Shawna is the reason why my life is what it is today. Because I no longer put up with unnecessary bullshit or the people that bring it to me.
So, just in case there was an inch of truth in the smite she spewed at me this evening, I'd like to offer a formal apology to my friends.
If you've ever felt that I placed a wedge in between you and anyone else, I'm sorry. If you've ever felt like I "get whatever I want," I'm sorry. If you're still holding on to something I may have said about you or to you 20 years ago, well that's your fucking problem. Get over it. :)
In all seriousness, she put a dent in my heart tonight. I'm not sure where her anger came from, but apparently it's something she's held onto for years. I love all of my friends for who they are, differences or not, sanity or lack thereof.
She made me question my TOTAL BEING and I don't like that feeling. I'm all about introspection and self-reflection, but I've long since given up on self-destruction and I will not go back there. In the end, the ONLY person I can count on is myself and I believe in myself, Shawna. I'm sorry if you can't say the same about yourself but that IS NOT my fault.
So I was going to blog about this great guy that I met at Kanrocksas over the weekend and how fate (once again) teased me with something and then took it away from me, but then this happened and I felt I needed to get it off my chest.
I'll tell you all about Mr. Hot Lips another day. :)
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
Oh what a tangled web we weave...
I've dedicated several of my posts to my love life or lack thereof, so why stop now?
Over the weekend I moved to my new pad (and I L-O-V-E it), but I couldn't leave without one last effort to get into Hot Dad's pants.
I mentioned before that I was going to leave him a note if I didn't see him, so that's just what I did. I decided that if I were to have a chance in hell luring him into my "Spiffy web," I needed to keep it simple. Wemember. Be vewy, vewy, qwiet when hunting wabbits...
While the thought of drawing a picture of stick-figure me on the back of his stick-figure bike with my hands near his stick-figure penis would be an absolute HOOT, I'm not sure how he'd feel about it.
Instead I wrote a nice note and told him that one of the best things about living in that overpriced box over the last four years was chatting with him and that he should give me a call if he'd like to hang out sometime. Straight and too the point.
Note was written, now all I had to do was get it under the garage door. I had it all planned out. I'd been eyeing his garage for the past week and it looked like there was a gap at the bottom through which my note would fit just nicely. So once I'd finished cleaning and packing the last of my crap into my car, I grabbed the note from my purse and sauntered over to the garage. All the while looking around to make sure no one was watching me. I mean come on...I'M the only one who should be spying out my window!
When I got to the garage I bent over and tried to slide the note under the door. I quickly realized that the hole was not as big as it looked (that's what she said) because the note would not slide under.
I walked back to my car, dejected, but on my way back I had a quick pep talk with myself and reminded myself that I'd kick my own ass if I didn't do this, so I went back to the garage and SHOVED that bitch under the door! Phew! I hope I didn't wedge it into a random tool lying on the ground, but regardless, as of this very moment, I have not heard from him. BUT, I'm not giving up hope. :)
Now, onto the next "Spiffy moment." I hired a moving company to handle my move over the weekend. While I'm glad I did, I think I may have made a new "friend" that I didn't really want to make...
One of the movers, Kenny aka "Texas" took a liking to me. Not sure why; I was a sweaty, no-make-up, messy hair, gross-looking pig, but he said I had "a nice smile and a great attitude." CLEARLY he doesn't know me...
What I learned about Kenny because he talked A LOT about himself: he just moved here six weeks ago from Texas because he "needed a change." He left behind his two daughters and an ex-wife (who he loved so much he had her name tattoo'd on his neck) to move to Missouri and work for a moving company. He took a few semesters of college (I can't remember where) and a speaking course because he "didn't want to offend people."
He was looking for someone to show him around Kansas City and apparently thought I was just the girl to do it because he proceeded to lay the mack down. I was bombarded with "babes," and "sweets," and "dears." He told me how he loved to cook and how great of a cook he was. He mentioned that I'll need to get a bigger TV "if he's going to come over and hang out with me." He mentioned that "if this thing works out, you'll have to tell me what's in those boxes in your storage unit." Seriously. Layed. It. On. Thick.
While Kenny was "charming," he had THE WORST teeth I've ever seen in my entire life. So tobacco stained they really didn't have any hint of white to them. I know, I've painted a beautiful picture of Kenny, haven't I. You would've thought that being the bitch that I can be I would have put the kabosh on it right from the start but truthfully, I was afraid he'd break my shit or go crazy, so I fed into it.
When they finally finished (5 hours later) he asked if I wanted his number, so I took it. What I should have done was just put it into my phone and left it at that, but what did I do? I FUCKING CALLED HIM SO HE HAD MY NUMBER. What the fuck was wrong with me?? I blame it on extreme heat exhaustion and dehydration. I don't think I had peed at all and I'm pretty sure there were toxins backed up that may have affected my brain...I'm just sayin'...
So good ole' Kenny sent me a few text messages, all very nice, telling me how he would be a great friend to have, etc., blah, blah. Unfortunately, I don't think I'd be a very good friend to Kenny, so I decided to nip it in the bud before the bud tried to bloom. I apologized for giving him my number and leading him to believe that I was interested in anything. He seemed to take it well and I haven't heard from him since. Unfortunately, he knows where I live...ugh.
I will conclude my post by letting you all know that the "hole in the pit of my stomach" feeling has finally subsided. I absofuckinglutely love my new place and I can't wait to have people over. I've had a couple of visitors, which is pretty close to the total number of people that ever came to visit me when I lived in Lenexhell, so things are looking up!
Over the weekend I moved to my new pad (and I L-O-V-E it), but I couldn't leave without one last effort to get into Hot Dad's pants.
I mentioned before that I was going to leave him a note if I didn't see him, so that's just what I did. I decided that if I were to have a chance in hell luring him into my "Spiffy web," I needed to keep it simple. Wemember. Be vewy, vewy, qwiet when hunting wabbits...
While the thought of drawing a picture of stick-figure me on the back of his stick-figure bike with my hands near his stick-figure penis would be an absolute HOOT, I'm not sure how he'd feel about it.
Instead I wrote a nice note and told him that one of the best things about living in that overpriced box over the last four years was chatting with him and that he should give me a call if he'd like to hang out sometime. Straight and too the point.
Note was written, now all I had to do was get it under the garage door. I had it all planned out. I'd been eyeing his garage for the past week and it looked like there was a gap at the bottom through which my note would fit just nicely. So once I'd finished cleaning and packing the last of my crap into my car, I grabbed the note from my purse and sauntered over to the garage. All the while looking around to make sure no one was watching me. I mean come on...I'M the only one who should be spying out my window!
When I got to the garage I bent over and tried to slide the note under the door. I quickly realized that the hole was not as big as it looked (that's what she said) because the note would not slide under.
I walked back to my car, dejected, but on my way back I had a quick pep talk with myself and reminded myself that I'd kick my own ass if I didn't do this, so I went back to the garage and SHOVED that bitch under the door! Phew! I hope I didn't wedge it into a random tool lying on the ground, but regardless, as of this very moment, I have not heard from him. BUT, I'm not giving up hope. :)
Now, onto the next "Spiffy moment." I hired a moving company to handle my move over the weekend. While I'm glad I did, I think I may have made a new "friend" that I didn't really want to make...
One of the movers, Kenny aka "Texas" took a liking to me. Not sure why; I was a sweaty, no-make-up, messy hair, gross-looking pig, but he said I had "a nice smile and a great attitude." CLEARLY he doesn't know me...
What I learned about Kenny because he talked A LOT about himself: he just moved here six weeks ago from Texas because he "needed a change." He left behind his two daughters and an ex-wife (who he loved so much he had her name tattoo'd on his neck) to move to Missouri and work for a moving company. He took a few semesters of college (I can't remember where) and a speaking course because he "didn't want to offend people."
He was looking for someone to show him around Kansas City and apparently thought I was just the girl to do it because he proceeded to lay the mack down. I was bombarded with "babes," and "sweets," and "dears." He told me how he loved to cook and how great of a cook he was. He mentioned that I'll need to get a bigger TV "if he's going to come over and hang out with me." He mentioned that "if this thing works out, you'll have to tell me what's in those boxes in your storage unit." Seriously. Layed. It. On. Thick.
While Kenny was "charming," he had THE WORST teeth I've ever seen in my entire life. So tobacco stained they really didn't have any hint of white to them. I know, I've painted a beautiful picture of Kenny, haven't I. You would've thought that being the bitch that I can be I would have put the kabosh on it right from the start but truthfully, I was afraid he'd break my shit or go crazy, so I fed into it.
When they finally finished (5 hours later) he asked if I wanted his number, so I took it. What I should have done was just put it into my phone and left it at that, but what did I do? I FUCKING CALLED HIM SO HE HAD MY NUMBER. What the fuck was wrong with me?? I blame it on extreme heat exhaustion and dehydration. I don't think I had peed at all and I'm pretty sure there were toxins backed up that may have affected my brain...I'm just sayin'...
So good ole' Kenny sent me a few text messages, all very nice, telling me how he would be a great friend to have, etc., blah, blah. Unfortunately, I don't think I'd be a very good friend to Kenny, so I decided to nip it in the bud before the bud tried to bloom. I apologized for giving him my number and leading him to believe that I was interested in anything. He seemed to take it well and I haven't heard from him since. Unfortunately, he knows where I live...ugh.
I will conclude my post by letting you all know that the "hole in the pit of my stomach" feeling has finally subsided. I absofuckinglutely love my new place and I can't wait to have people over. I've had a couple of visitors, which is pretty close to the total number of people that ever came to visit me when I lived in Lenexhell, so things are looking up!
Friday, July 29, 2011
Melancholy and infinite...happiness??
I'm feeling a little melancholy tonight. This weekend marks the end of my eight year stint in good ole' JoCo Kansas. Or what I like to refer to as the "not-so-salad-years."
While I'm ready to move, it's always hard for me to say good bye. I moved to Kansas in 2003 when my ex-husband and I decided to buy a house. I've always been a Missouri girl and reluctantly agreed to move to JoCo. Truth be told, it was what he wanted and I wanted to make him happy, so I agreed.
When we got divorced a mere three-ish years later, I was too worn out to fight the battle of changing states: new drivers license, new tags, blah, blah, blah. So I didn't fight the battle; I just stayed in Kansas.
I moved to my current location in 2007 and told myself I wasn't going to move again until I "met the man of my dreams and decided to build a life with him." (Oh Spiffy...you're such a sappy, hopeless, romantic...bleh.)
Obviously, that never happened, so I thought, "What the hell. Move back to Missouri, Spiffy!" So off I went, in search of the perfect place for me to build my OWN salad years and I found and instantly fell in love with my new apartment. (Of course I fell in love with an apartment...because it can't love me back, crush my heart and leave me. But that's another blog...).
Here's the kicker - I have had a nervous feeling, like a hole in my stomach, ever since I decided to move into this apartment. Confession time - I'm afraid that something will happen, I'll finally get canned and I won't have the money to pay my rent. I'll get kicked out on the street, have to give away my dogs, sell my stuff, and feed myself on cans of Spaghetti Ohs and Ramen Noodles. Classic dramatic, over-analytic, worry-wort Spiffy.
Now here's where strong-willed, independent, even-keeled Spiffy retorts with, "You'll be fine! You've always bounced back from anything that life has thrown at you. You are smart, driven, ambitious, and every other positive adjective you can think of, Spiff. Put on your big-girl panties and suck it up! Plus, Spaghetti Ohs and Ramen Noodles are nothing but carbs and sodium. You'll be a homeless, fat cow!"
Alright, no more second guessing my choices! I'm packed and the movers will be here at 8am on Sunday. I'll feel better once I get unpacked and organized. Anal retentive Spiffy hates the clutter of boxes!
So, I bid you adieu, Kansas. The good times have outweighed the bad times, but it's time for this Missouri girl to head back home.
"And you know you're never sure. But you're sure you could be right, if you held yourself up to the light..." That Billy Corgan sure knows how to write lyrics, huh?
Believe...believe in me...
While I'm ready to move, it's always hard for me to say good bye. I moved to Kansas in 2003 when my ex-husband and I decided to buy a house. I've always been a Missouri girl and reluctantly agreed to move to JoCo. Truth be told, it was what he wanted and I wanted to make him happy, so I agreed.
When we got divorced a mere three-ish years later, I was too worn out to fight the battle of changing states: new drivers license, new tags, blah, blah, blah. So I didn't fight the battle; I just stayed in Kansas.
I moved to my current location in 2007 and told myself I wasn't going to move again until I "met the man of my dreams and decided to build a life with him." (Oh Spiffy...you're such a sappy, hopeless, romantic...bleh.)
Obviously, that never happened, so I thought, "What the hell. Move back to Missouri, Spiffy!" So off I went, in search of the perfect place for me to build my OWN salad years and I found and instantly fell in love with my new apartment. (Of course I fell in love with an apartment...because it can't love me back, crush my heart and leave me. But that's another blog...).
Here's the kicker - I have had a nervous feeling, like a hole in my stomach, ever since I decided to move into this apartment. Confession time - I'm afraid that something will happen, I'll finally get canned and I won't have the money to pay my rent. I'll get kicked out on the street, have to give away my dogs, sell my stuff, and feed myself on cans of Spaghetti Ohs and Ramen Noodles. Classic dramatic, over-analytic, worry-wort Spiffy.
Now here's where strong-willed, independent, even-keeled Spiffy retorts with, "You'll be fine! You've always bounced back from anything that life has thrown at you. You are smart, driven, ambitious, and every other positive adjective you can think of, Spiff. Put on your big-girl panties and suck it up! Plus, Spaghetti Ohs and Ramen Noodles are nothing but carbs and sodium. You'll be a homeless, fat cow!"
Alright, no more second guessing my choices! I'm packed and the movers will be here at 8am on Sunday. I'll feel better once I get unpacked and organized. Anal retentive Spiffy hates the clutter of boxes!
So, I bid you adieu, Kansas. The good times have outweighed the bad times, but it's time for this Missouri girl to head back home.
"And you know you're never sure. But you're sure you could be right, if you held yourself up to the light..." That Billy Corgan sure knows how to write lyrics, huh?
Believe...believe in me...
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Rollin' in the Deep
This shitty month has finally come to an end...well almost. Tomorrow I will kick two finals in their imaginary junk, sign a lease on an overpriced, yet very cool apartment, and end the eve with a frosty adult beverage - maybe.
With said frosty beverage in my hand, I may sit out on my deck and enjoy the view of the trees, the sounds of the jerks from surrounding neighborhoods who squat in my pool and make a ton of noise, and wait for Hot Dad to cruise by on his hog.
I may decide to finally muster up the cojones to hand my digits to Hot Dad and tell him I'm still waiting for that ride...either on the hog or his face. Preferrably both. I mean seriously, what do I have to lose? I'm moving from this hellish suburbia on Sunday. The worst thing that could happen would be that he looks at me like I've got a turd growing out of my head and tells me to kick rocks. But let's be honest...that's not gonna happen. :)
To be perfectly honest, I've already decided what I'm going to do. (Insert horn fanfare or psycho music. Whichever you see fit...).
I'm going to write him a note on my personalized note paper (so he has my last name and doesn't get me confused with all of the other Spiffys in JoCo). I'm going to draw a picture of him and me on his Harley with the wind flowing through my hair (he's bald). I'm going to draw a little thought bubble coming from my head that says something like "Wheeeeee!" or "Wow. My hands are really close to his penis," or something equally as hot and enticing.
I'll tell him that peeking through my blinds at him has been the best part of living in this overpriced box and that he should call me so I don't go into withdrawals. I'm going to stick the note under his garage door so he'll get it when he heads out on his next ride and VOILA! I'll surely receive a restraining order in the mail the following week. Or maybe I won't. :)
Hopefully there will be another Hot Dad or, even better, Hot Single Musician living at my new place so I can continue honing my stalking skills. One day someone will appreciate my admiration and I won't even have to boil a rabbit.
With said frosty beverage in my hand, I may sit out on my deck and enjoy the view of the trees, the sounds of the jerks from surrounding neighborhoods who squat in my pool and make a ton of noise, and wait for Hot Dad to cruise by on his hog.
I may decide to finally muster up the cojones to hand my digits to Hot Dad and tell him I'm still waiting for that ride...either on the hog or his face. Preferrably both. I mean seriously, what do I have to lose? I'm moving from this hellish suburbia on Sunday. The worst thing that could happen would be that he looks at me like I've got a turd growing out of my head and tells me to kick rocks. But let's be honest...that's not gonna happen. :)
To be perfectly honest, I've already decided what I'm going to do. (Insert horn fanfare or psycho music. Whichever you see fit...).
I'm going to write him a note on my personalized note paper (so he has my last name and doesn't get me confused with all of the other Spiffys in JoCo). I'm going to draw a picture of him and me on his Harley with the wind flowing through my hair (he's bald). I'm going to draw a little thought bubble coming from my head that says something like "Wheeeeee!" or "Wow. My hands are really close to his penis," or something equally as hot and enticing.
I'll tell him that peeking through my blinds at him has been the best part of living in this overpriced box and that he should call me so I don't go into withdrawals. I'm going to stick the note under his garage door so he'll get it when he heads out on his next ride and VOILA! I'll surely receive a restraining order in the mail the following week. Or maybe I won't. :)
Hopefully there will be another Hot Dad or, even better, Hot Single Musician living at my new place so I can continue honing my stalking skills. One day someone will appreciate my admiration and I won't even have to boil a rabbit.
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Sometimes you feel like a nut. Sometimes you're kicked there...
I had an interesting weekend. What's that? You want me to TELL you about my interesting weekend? OK, let's see how I can tip toe around this one...
Regardless of what you may believe, I don't enjoy a lot of unnecessary drama. I have zero time for bullshit mind-games or pettiness. Now, I have plenty of time for online games and heavy petting, but that's another blog...
There's a relationship in my life that seems to be a constant victim of poor timing. Our signals get crossed, he's interested and I'm not, I'm interested and he's not, blah, blah, blah. For whatever reason, we can't seem to get it together. Sadly, I think the ship finally sailed this weekend.
I'm going to leave it at that (I said I was going to tip toe...you just got a lot of toe and no tip...insert inappropriate joke...). I will say this - I'm sorry about the series of unfortunate events that lead you to "unfriend" me on Facebook and push me away (again). Everything happens for a reason, so this time I'm accepting it and moving on.
I'm just going to lay this out there because I can't seem to form a proper sentence without erasing and starting over. I'm having a bad month. Actually, the past few months have been pretty shitty. I've been working hard on holding it all together, but I'll be honest; the threads are kind of thin. I am feeling stretched and pulled and beaten down. All of which would be fine if I were pizza dough or a penis, but I'm neither. OK, that's all I'm going to say about that, too. I'm trying not to be a Debbie Downer, so I'll just put this out there into the universe and hope the universe sends me a message back, "I'm ready for the next chapter of my life to begin!"
On a lighter note, I'm going to end this blog with "Spiffy's Crazy Act of the Week." I've mentioned before that I'm coo coo for Hot Dad who lives in the building across the way from me. Hot Dad is your typical bald, buff, construction working, beer drinking, tattoo'd, Harley-riding bad ass. He makes me fumble over my words and think nasty thoughts...(meeeeowww). Now I do realize it's highly unlikely we could have a conversation about politics, the last book he read or his thoughts on new Alternative music, but I'm pretty sure I could make him forget his name for a few minutes and vice versa. >:)
Moving on. Last week while I was outside picking up dog poop in the sweltering heat, he pulled up in his car. I thought about hanging out for a minute to talk to him, when all of a sudden, what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a skinny biker bimbo with big, fake boobs and a small derriere...DAMNIT!
I immediatly decided that staying outside was a bad idea. It was a much better idea to run to my window and spy on them (insert psycho music). In case you were wondering, they left on his bike, returned about an hour later, he threw her the keys so she could go inside before she sweated off her multiple layers of ho-makeup and he talked to the fellow-Harley-riding-neighbors.
Like I said...some things are just not meant to be, but I haven't let that fantasy go quite yet. (Universe...are you listening??) :)
Regardless of what you may believe, I don't enjoy a lot of unnecessary drama. I have zero time for bullshit mind-games or pettiness. Now, I have plenty of time for online games and heavy petting, but that's another blog...
There's a relationship in my life that seems to be a constant victim of poor timing. Our signals get crossed, he's interested and I'm not, I'm interested and he's not, blah, blah, blah. For whatever reason, we can't seem to get it together. Sadly, I think the ship finally sailed this weekend.
I'm going to leave it at that (I said I was going to tip toe...you just got a lot of toe and no tip...insert inappropriate joke...). I will say this - I'm sorry about the series of unfortunate events that lead you to "unfriend" me on Facebook and push me away (again). Everything happens for a reason, so this time I'm accepting it and moving on.
I'm just going to lay this out there because I can't seem to form a proper sentence without erasing and starting over. I'm having a bad month. Actually, the past few months have been pretty shitty. I've been working hard on holding it all together, but I'll be honest; the threads are kind of thin. I am feeling stretched and pulled and beaten down. All of which would be fine if I were pizza dough or a penis, but I'm neither. OK, that's all I'm going to say about that, too. I'm trying not to be a Debbie Downer, so I'll just put this out there into the universe and hope the universe sends me a message back, "I'm ready for the next chapter of my life to begin!"
On a lighter note, I'm going to end this blog with "Spiffy's Crazy Act of the Week." I've mentioned before that I'm coo coo for Hot Dad who lives in the building across the way from me. Hot Dad is your typical bald, buff, construction working, beer drinking, tattoo'd, Harley-riding bad ass. He makes me fumble over my words and think nasty thoughts...(meeeeowww). Now I do realize it's highly unlikely we could have a conversation about politics, the last book he read or his thoughts on new Alternative music, but I'm pretty sure I could make him forget his name for a few minutes and vice versa. >:)
Moving on. Last week while I was outside picking up dog poop in the sweltering heat, he pulled up in his car. I thought about hanging out for a minute to talk to him, when all of a sudden, what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a skinny biker bimbo with big, fake boobs and a small derriere...DAMNIT!
I immediatly decided that staying outside was a bad idea. It was a much better idea to run to my window and spy on them (insert psycho music). In case you were wondering, they left on his bike, returned about an hour later, he threw her the keys so she could go inside before she sweated off her multiple layers of ho-makeup and he talked to the fellow-Harley-riding-neighbors.
Like I said...some things are just not meant to be, but I haven't let that fantasy go quite yet. (Universe...are you listening??) :)
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Something Prolific
I downloaded TweetDeck on my computers over the weekend. I don't know what took me so long (yes I do...I'm always last to adopt any technology), but I'm glad I finally took the leap.
Anyway, as soon as I logged in and arranged my columns, I was overwhelmed by the amount of information being fed to me second after second. Do I really need Tweets from Snoop Dog about #puffpuffpasstuesday, or ReTweets from some random stranger who thought something Demi Lovato said was interesting, followed quickly by a friends Facebook status update, not to be outdone by a friend checking in on FourSquare? (deep breath...) The answer is "no," I don't NEED it, but I've become drunk with TweetDeck power!!! (insert evil laugh muuuaaaahhahahahah!!)
What did we (and by we, I only me "I" at this moment because I'm a narcissistic Tweet-whore) do before social media took over our (my) lives (fe)?
I remember when I thought it was ridiculous to text when you could pick up the phone, call, and get your answer quicker than you could "T9" it into your flip phone. Yeah, I know. So 2003...
I remember when I enjoyed having actual conversations with people. Slowly, I'm finding myself more and more anti-social.. It seems I'm more comfortable expressing my "inner-Spiffy" through my blog, Tweets, Facebook and texts. Its almost as if I'm becoming more entertaining in writing than I am in person, which is sad, because I used to be pretty fucking entertaining! :)
Case in point, I had another pointless first date with a guy over the weekend. He looked great on paper and we should have gotten along, but I had no interest in getting to know him once I met him in person.
I'm a funny, interesting, smart person and I couldn't come up with anything to speak to this man about other than child stalking pornographers (I have no idea how that conversation came up...) and the overwhelming amount of homework I have to wade through. Yeah, I can't believe he didn't want to fuck me right there on the table, "chicken sandwich, be damned!"
I'm considering taking a hiatus from technology, but t I haven't yet worked up the courage. I think I may get the DT's if I don't check my Facebook and Twitter feeds on my Blackberry every two minutes.
I just re-read this sentence and imagined that I was my grandma reading it and what she'd say. Cute, sweet, little Grandma Louise would probably think I had either joined a cult or was using some sort of obscene language. My grandma knew me well... :)
Anyway, what do you think? Could you spend an entire day away from technology? ALL technology. TV, phone, computer, Kindle, vibrator? (Threw that one in to see if you were paying attention.)
Maybe I should pitch the idea to VH1 - Social Media Rehab. I can ask Adam Levine to host it, shirtless at all times of course, and I'll be his trusty co-host/pants. Yes...I said I'd be his pants. Deal.
Now I'm rambling.
Anyway, as soon as I logged in and arranged my columns, I was overwhelmed by the amount of information being fed to me second after second. Do I really need Tweets from Snoop Dog about #puffpuffpasstuesday, or ReTweets from some random stranger who thought something Demi Lovato said was interesting, followed quickly by a friends Facebook status update, not to be outdone by a friend checking in on FourSquare? (deep breath...) The answer is "no," I don't NEED it, but I've become drunk with TweetDeck power!!! (insert evil laugh muuuaaaahhahahahah!!)
What did we (and by we, I only me "I" at this moment because I'm a narcissistic Tweet-whore) do before social media took over our (my) lives (fe)?
I remember when I thought it was ridiculous to text when you could pick up the phone, call, and get your answer quicker than you could "T9" it into your flip phone. Yeah, I know. So 2003...
I remember when I enjoyed having actual conversations with people. Slowly, I'm finding myself more and more anti-social.. It seems I'm more comfortable expressing my "inner-Spiffy" through my blog, Tweets, Facebook and texts. Its almost as if I'm becoming more entertaining in writing than I am in person, which is sad, because I used to be pretty fucking entertaining! :)
Case in point, I had another pointless first date with a guy over the weekend. He looked great on paper and we should have gotten along, but I had no interest in getting to know him once I met him in person.
I'm a funny, interesting, smart person and I couldn't come up with anything to speak to this man about other than child stalking pornographers (I have no idea how that conversation came up...) and the overwhelming amount of homework I have to wade through. Yeah, I can't believe he didn't want to fuck me right there on the table, "chicken sandwich, be damned!"
I'm considering taking a hiatus from technology, but t I haven't yet worked up the courage. I think I may get the DT's if I don't check my Facebook and Twitter feeds on my Blackberry every two minutes.
I just re-read this sentence and imagined that I was my grandma reading it and what she'd say. Cute, sweet, little Grandma Louise would probably think I had either joined a cult or was using some sort of obscene language. My grandma knew me well... :)
Anyway, what do you think? Could you spend an entire day away from technology? ALL technology. TV, phone, computer, Kindle, vibrator? (Threw that one in to see if you were paying attention.)
Maybe I should pitch the idea to VH1 - Social Media Rehab. I can ask Adam Levine to host it, shirtless at all times of course, and I'll be his trusty co-host/pants. Yes...I said I'd be his pants. Deal.
Now I'm rambling.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
And the beat goes on...
I like it when songs pop into my head. I believe that my subconscious speaks to me in song lyrics. It tells me something that I need to know or that I'm feeling but don't realize. Good ole' Sonny and Cher spoke to me tonight after another not so promising first "date."
First of all, I want you all to know that I'm not a feminist, nor am I Betty Francis, but I do believe that on the first "date," there should be some sort of chivalry on the man's behalf.
For example, if I order one beer; buy my beer. It's $4.00. I'm not an expensive date. It's not like you're spending $115 and leave feeling like I'm a "wasted investment" (thanks for the one, Angry Beer Gut Dude).
Again, I make my own money and I can buy my own beer, but it's the flippin' principle! If I pull out my debit card and offer to pay for my beer, say, "No, I got this. You get the next one," and I absolutely will. That $4.00 could be the best investment you ever made. Who knows...
Another suggestion, if it's raining like cats and dogs and I tell you that storms and driving in storms freak me out, don't just leave me at the bar and take off. Ride the storm out with me. Again...10 minutes could lead to something more...who knows?
The common denominator in all of my "not so productive" dates is me, so maybe it's me?! Am I too picky? Expecations too high? Who knows.
I do know that I'll continue to share the trials and tribulations of my dating life, but only the bad ones. I'll keep the good ones to myself...a girl has to have some secrets, right??
First of all, I want you all to know that I'm not a feminist, nor am I Betty Francis, but I do believe that on the first "date," there should be some sort of chivalry on the man's behalf.
For example, if I order one beer; buy my beer. It's $4.00. I'm not an expensive date. It's not like you're spending $115 and leave feeling like I'm a "wasted investment" (thanks for the one, Angry Beer Gut Dude).
Again, I make my own money and I can buy my own beer, but it's the flippin' principle! If I pull out my debit card and offer to pay for my beer, say, "No, I got this. You get the next one," and I absolutely will. That $4.00 could be the best investment you ever made. Who knows...
Another suggestion, if it's raining like cats and dogs and I tell you that storms and driving in storms freak me out, don't just leave me at the bar and take off. Ride the storm out with me. Again...10 minutes could lead to something more...who knows?
The common denominator in all of my "not so productive" dates is me, so maybe it's me?! Am I too picky? Expecations too high? Who knows.
I do know that I'll continue to share the trials and tribulations of my dating life, but only the bad ones. I'll keep the good ones to myself...a girl has to have some secrets, right??
Sunday, July 3, 2011
Through the years....
No, I'm not singing along to Kenny Rogers or eating his chicken. Today is my 41st birthday and I'm reminiscing about how I've celebrated my birthday over the years.
Well known fact about Spiffy - I love my birthday. I've had a party or some sort of celebration for my birthday for as long as I can remember. This is the one day of the year that I believe is all about me. And Tom Cruise since it's his birthday, too, but really more about me.
Jump in the Spiffy Time Machine with me and let's take a journey back in time, shall we? I promise, it will be more excellent than Bill & Ted's adventure.
Our first stop, 1991, the year of my 21st birthday. I was dating and living with an abusive piece of shit named Louis. He liked to control me and made sure to say whatever he could to keep my ego and self-esteem shattered. It goes without saying, he had to ruin my 21st birthday.
Anyway, we were celebrating and Donovan's bar, which at the time, was the "hot spot" north of the river. I don't remember all of the details, but I believe some guy bought me a shot which pissed him off so he left me at the bar. Alone. On my 21st birthday. Looking back, what I should have done was hooked up with some random hottie and had some kick ass "wham bam" 21st birthday sex, but I didn't. I'm sure I moped about how mean he was during my cab ride home. I left the douche bag soon thereafter, but not soon enough.
Next stop, 2001 for my 31st birthday. Now that was a fun night!
I was living in the Union Hill area with my good friend Kris in a really kick-ass apartment. I was happy, healthy, and loved my life. My boyfriend who was also my karate instructor had recently broken up with me, so my heart was a little bruised, but nothing I couldn't handle. I had just started dating someone new, Brian. Poor guy didn't realize he was a rebound, but he quickly found out. (Sorry Brian, you didn't deserve what I did to you.)
Our apartment was filled with friends. Everyone was drinking and eating and jamming on music piped from my killer boom box in the back yard. Yes, I had a boom box. Deal.
I wanted to give everyone a Polaroid party pic to remember the evening, which quickly turned into people taking naked pictures of themselves. Good times.
Now, I don't know about you, but at my parties (or most of the time when there is alcohol involved), I like to make out. So, I decided that since it was my birthday and I was half-way to shit-faced, I needed to kiss as many people as possible. Anyone who was willing was given the opportunity to make out with yours truly. Needless to say, that didn't sit well with Brian, so at the end of the night, I broke up with him and humiliated him in front of everyone.
My ex-boyfriend/friend/karate instructor was also at the party, which made Brian feel even more uncomfortable. The end of the evening was and still is quite blurry, but I believe my lawn turned into a scene from the Karate Kid. A lot of smack talk and maybe some karate chops or 'fist of death' punches. Luckily no one was hurt. I do remember waking up the next morning with a killer hangover wondering what in the hell happened and laughing my ass off at all of the Polaroid pics laying around.
Our final stop is today, July 3, 2011. My 41st birthday. Things are so completely different this year. I had no desire to throw a party, or even drink let alone get drunk.
Yesterday I went to the Nelson-Atkins Museum to see the Monet Waterlilies exhibit with a few of my girlfriends and then out to dinner. Ten years really classed up this girl, huh??
Today I had brunch with an old friend today and spent the afternoon making memories with a new friend. This evening I was invited to a party in G-Town, but I decided I'd rather chill out and relax on my couch. Apparently 41 is the year I turn lame. (Note to self...fix that pronto!)
I am a little bummed that I haven't gotten a birthday cake. I'll be sure to go and buy myself one (or six) of my favorite cupcakes sometime this week. Afterall, everyone deserves to make a wish and blow out a candle for their birthday, right?
Well, everyone but Tom Cruise.
Well known fact about Spiffy - I love my birthday. I've had a party or some sort of celebration for my birthday for as long as I can remember. This is the one day of the year that I believe is all about me. And Tom Cruise since it's his birthday, too, but really more about me.
Jump in the Spiffy Time Machine with me and let's take a journey back in time, shall we? I promise, it will be more excellent than Bill & Ted's adventure.
Our first stop, 1991, the year of my 21st birthday. I was dating and living with an abusive piece of shit named Louis. He liked to control me and made sure to say whatever he could to keep my ego and self-esteem shattered. It goes without saying, he had to ruin my 21st birthday.
Anyway, we were celebrating and Donovan's bar, which at the time, was the "hot spot" north of the river. I don't remember all of the details, but I believe some guy bought me a shot which pissed him off so he left me at the bar. Alone. On my 21st birthday. Looking back, what I should have done was hooked up with some random hottie and had some kick ass "wham bam" 21st birthday sex, but I didn't. I'm sure I moped about how mean he was during my cab ride home. I left the douche bag soon thereafter, but not soon enough.
Next stop, 2001 for my 31st birthday. Now that was a fun night!
I was living in the Union Hill area with my good friend Kris in a really kick-ass apartment. I was happy, healthy, and loved my life. My boyfriend who was also my karate instructor had recently broken up with me, so my heart was a little bruised, but nothing I couldn't handle. I had just started dating someone new, Brian. Poor guy didn't realize he was a rebound, but he quickly found out. (Sorry Brian, you didn't deserve what I did to you.)
Our apartment was filled with friends. Everyone was drinking and eating and jamming on music piped from my killer boom box in the back yard. Yes, I had a boom box. Deal.
I wanted to give everyone a Polaroid party pic to remember the evening, which quickly turned into people taking naked pictures of themselves. Good times.
Now, I don't know about you, but at my parties (or most of the time when there is alcohol involved), I like to make out. So, I decided that since it was my birthday and I was half-way to shit-faced, I needed to kiss as many people as possible. Anyone who was willing was given the opportunity to make out with yours truly. Needless to say, that didn't sit well with Brian, so at the end of the night, I broke up with him and humiliated him in front of everyone.
My ex-boyfriend/friend/karate instructor was also at the party, which made Brian feel even more uncomfortable. The end of the evening was and still is quite blurry, but I believe my lawn turned into a scene from the Karate Kid. A lot of smack talk and maybe some karate chops or 'fist of death' punches. Luckily no one was hurt. I do remember waking up the next morning with a killer hangover wondering what in the hell happened and laughing my ass off at all of the Polaroid pics laying around.
Our final stop is today, July 3, 2011. My 41st birthday. Things are so completely different this year. I had no desire to throw a party, or even drink let alone get drunk.
Yesterday I went to the Nelson-Atkins Museum to see the Monet Waterlilies exhibit with a few of my girlfriends and then out to dinner. Ten years really classed up this girl, huh??
Today I had brunch with an old friend today and spent the afternoon making memories with a new friend. This evening I was invited to a party in G-Town, but I decided I'd rather chill out and relax on my couch. Apparently 41 is the year I turn lame. (Note to self...fix that pronto!)
I am a little bummed that I haven't gotten a birthday cake. I'll be sure to go and buy myself one (or six) of my favorite cupcakes sometime this week. Afterall, everyone deserves to make a wish and blow out a candle for their birthday, right?
Well, everyone but Tom Cruise.
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
WTF did you smoke, Spiffy?
Do you ever look around and wonder how in the hell you got here? I mean right here, in this moment, in this place, at this time.
What series of events led me to the disappointment and confusion that I'm feeling at this very moment? How did I end up in this life, surrounded by people that I know, but that sometimes feel like strangers to me?
Do you ever wonder whether if you ceased to exist, would anyone really notice you were gone? Have I left a lasting impression on those around me, or will I simply be a fleeting memory?
Do you ever get the feeling that is so much more out there for you, but you just can't figure out how to make it yours?
Am I freaking you out a little right now? I'm waxing philosophic tonight. Once again contemplating the meaning of MY life. I can't worry about the meaning of anyone else's life right now. Maybe that's my problem; I don't worry enough about other people. Am I a selfish bitch? Yeah, I guess I am sometimes, but if I don't worry about me, who else will?
Sorry, I'm not feeling like the usual smart-ass, potty-mouthed Spiffy tonight. I'm ready for my next chapter in life. I just can't figure out how to start the sentence.
Oh, and in case you're wondering, the answer is no. I'm not stoned, nor have I huffed anything. Thanks. :)
What series of events led me to the disappointment and confusion that I'm feeling at this very moment? How did I end up in this life, surrounded by people that I know, but that sometimes feel like strangers to me?
Do you ever wonder whether if you ceased to exist, would anyone really notice you were gone? Have I left a lasting impression on those around me, or will I simply be a fleeting memory?
Do you ever get the feeling that is so much more out there for you, but you just can't figure out how to make it yours?
Am I freaking you out a little right now? I'm waxing philosophic tonight. Once again contemplating the meaning of MY life. I can't worry about the meaning of anyone else's life right now. Maybe that's my problem; I don't worry enough about other people. Am I a selfish bitch? Yeah, I guess I am sometimes, but if I don't worry about me, who else will?
Sorry, I'm not feeling like the usual smart-ass, potty-mouthed Spiffy tonight. I'm ready for my next chapter in life. I just can't figure out how to start the sentence.
Oh, and in case you're wondering, the answer is no. I'm not stoned, nor have I huffed anything. Thanks. :)
Sunday, June 26, 2011
More Spiftastic Randomosity...
Welcome to another mish-mash of random thoughts running through Spiffy's head...today with photographic support! I can't form one complete thought, so I'll spew a bunch of meaningless thoughts at you. Ready.....GO!
This is a picture of my toilet lid. When I bought the toilet lid cover, it fit. When I broke the toilet (nothing bawdy...the damn thing just broke), they replaced my normal lid with this miniature lid. Now my cover doesn't fit and I refuse to buy another. I washed and dryed it today in hopes it would shrink. Denied.
 |
| Pointless.... |
 |
| No, those aren't men's tighty-whiteys... |
This is a picture of my girl, Z. When I leave my closet door open, she finds it comforting to dig through my dirty clothes, put them into a pile, and cozy up. I was almost embarrassed to post this because it looks like my closet is a big shit-hole, but I promise, it's all Z's doing. I love her like a fat kid loves cake!
 |
| There is nothing up my butt. I promise. |
In this picture, it looks like I have a saggy turkey neck and have lodged something up my butt. I assure you, neither is true. Seeing how good my hair looks in this pic, I'm reminded that it's time for a trip to see my girl Kristy. And, that I shouldn't take weird pictures of myself and post them.
 |
| Slurp. |
This is the chambord margi that I drank last night. Usually something that large and in charge would have made me want to flash half of Gardner. Thankfully the ice melted, sufficiently watering down the alcohol content. Phew...
 |
| I think I'm flipping you off in some culture. |
I painted my fingernails today. I'm channeling my inner-hooker. Not really. As you can tell, I painted a little outside the lines...but then again, hookers don't care.
**
This last thought doesn't have visual support, it's just an update on Mr. LAME. In case I end up dead in a ditch, I thought you should all know that Mr. LAME texted me last night. It was a very thoughtful text, "hi." It was difficult, but I ignored his charm.
Today he texted again, "so, r we not talking?" Those of you who know me know how much I hate text-speak. How fucking hard is it to put an 'a' and 'e' in that sentence??
Anyway, I thought I should go ahead and cut the cord on this one, so I very tactfully told him that I found out he had lied about his last name, no specifics and I didn't know why, but that the fact he'd lie about something so insignificant told me that 'we' wouldn't work. He responded with , "lol, I certainly did not, but that's ok. Good luck."
Fucking liar can't even come clean when he's been busted! Seriously! I know you lied! I found your Facebook and old My Space page with the name that you DID NOT give me. Whatever. I dropped it. I don't really want to stir up this hornet's nest if you know what I mean.
Adieu...
Friday, June 24, 2011
And the saga continues...
Last night I shared with you the love and warm-fuzziness I'm feeling from Mr. Angry Beer-Gut Dude. Leave it to Spiffy to piss some guy off to the point of spewing verbal bars after simply meeting for a few beers. Oh well. Fuck it.
Tonight, I'll share with you the tantalizing and (anti)climactic, yet true story of 'Mr. Lie About My Endname', or Mr. LAME. (I know...it was a stretch but it's the only way I could make the word 'lame' out of it...)
I met Mr. LAME a couple of weeks ago on Match. We got to know each other over Mexican food (my favorite way to get to know someone) and hit it off. You've probably figured this out about me while reading through my mind-candy; I have a hard time trusting or even liking people. Most of the time I think people are stupid. If I'm being honest.
Well, I liked Mr. LAME. He didn't set off any red flags; wasn't too nice, wasn't too much of a douche, wasn't too cocky, wasn't too clingly. He seemed cool and laid back...but then again, so did Jeffrey Dahmer. (Probably, I'm not sure. I never met the guy, but I bet he knew how to keep it cool right up to the time he ate his victims...).
I asked for LAME's last name, and he gave one to me. Turns out, it wasn't actually his last name. I found this out while conducting my usual background search on potential dates. Or Google search.
He gave me a few key pieces of information that allowed me to search and find out his real last name. I verified the real information when I found his FB and My Space page (yes...My Space does still exist).
While pondering why someone would lie about their last name, one of my super-sleuth girlfriends suggested I run his name through CaseNet, so I did. Thinking I would find nothing, imagine the shock and disbelief I felt when a rap sheet two-pages long popped up on the screen.
This man had several charges of stalking and domestic abuse, a paternity case, a few traffic cases. Now I know why he lied about his last name...
Thankfully, he hasn't contacted me in a few days, and not since I found all of this out. I wasn't sure how I was going to bring it up, but I think he's decided to cut and run instead of trying to stick around and spin a bigger web of deceit.
Online dating sucks. You never know who you'll meet and the ones who seem the coolest are (apparently) the biggest liars of all. Lucky for me, the experience provides me with tasty bits of goodness to blog about!
Be careful out there!
Tonight, I'll share with you the tantalizing and (anti)climactic, yet true story of 'Mr. Lie About My Endname', or Mr. LAME. (I know...it was a stretch but it's the only way I could make the word 'lame' out of it...)
I met Mr. LAME a couple of weeks ago on Match. We got to know each other over Mexican food (my favorite way to get to know someone) and hit it off. You've probably figured this out about me while reading through my mind-candy; I have a hard time trusting or even liking people. Most of the time I think people are stupid. If I'm being honest.
Well, I liked Mr. LAME. He didn't set off any red flags; wasn't too nice, wasn't too much of a douche, wasn't too cocky, wasn't too clingly. He seemed cool and laid back...but then again, so did Jeffrey Dahmer. (Probably, I'm not sure. I never met the guy, but I bet he knew how to keep it cool right up to the time he ate his victims...).
I asked for LAME's last name, and he gave one to me. Turns out, it wasn't actually his last name. I found this out while conducting my usual background search on potential dates. Or Google search.
He gave me a few key pieces of information that allowed me to search and find out his real last name. I verified the real information when I found his FB and My Space page (yes...My Space does still exist).
While pondering why someone would lie about their last name, one of my super-sleuth girlfriends suggested I run his name through CaseNet, so I did. Thinking I would find nothing, imagine the shock and disbelief I felt when a rap sheet two-pages long popped up on the screen.
This man had several charges of stalking and domestic abuse, a paternity case, a few traffic cases. Now I know why he lied about his last name...
Thankfully, he hasn't contacted me in a few days, and not since I found all of this out. I wasn't sure how I was going to bring it up, but I think he's decided to cut and run instead of trying to stick around and spin a bigger web of deceit.
Online dating sucks. You never know who you'll meet and the ones who seem the coolest are (apparently) the biggest liars of all. Lucky for me, the experience provides me with tasty bits of goodness to blog about!
Be careful out there!
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Spiffy's Dating Stories - Angry Beer-Gut Dude
I mentioned this a couple of posts ago; I recently decided to trek into the world of online dating. Unfortunately, the ease of meeting someone online is losing more of its lustre as days go by.
I told you the story of date #2 - "Bad Dental Work Dude." His partial didn't touch the top of his gums, leaving a gaping hole for food and spit to escape through. Bleh.
I was going to leave this guy out of the Wrath of Spiffy, but he's succeeded in pissing me off, so I'm taking off the gloves. This post will focus around date #1 - or as I will forever know him - "Angry Beer-Gut Dude."
This is the only guy who I didn't meet through Match. He is a friend of a friend and we actually have a lot of friends in common. When I met him, he was sitting behind a table at a bar. (I put that fact here for a reason...keep reading...).
We chatted and, as it turns out, he's friends with my ex-husband and his whore wife. At first that freaked me out a little, but I thought he was cool and that we'd get along since we seemed to have a lot in common. I overlooked the possible future awkwardness of the two of us running into my ex and the whore at a barbeque where we had to make small-talk about the weather or something else equally insignificant. I figured I'd cross that bridge when we got there, hypothetically speaking, of course.
Fast-forward. We talk, we decide to meet for a drink. The day of said meeting, he offers to pick me up and pay for a cab to take me back home so I wouldn't have to worry about drinking and driving. I was instantly impressed at his chivalry. NO ONE has ever offered to do something like that for me, so he had immediate bonus points. I warned him that it would likely be a pricey ride, but he told me not to worry about it. Come to find out, he has a cabby on his speed dial because of his two previous DUI's and loss of a license. At least he learned his lesson; I'll give him that.
I don't want to cut him down at the knees, so I won't go into a lot of details, but I will say this; I didn't think the date went well. I felt that I had to carry a lot of the conversation and that I did nothing but talk to fill nervous space.
And, if I'm being honest, I wasn't attracted to him. I thought I would be and hoped I would be, but when I saw him standing, I noticed his large, bulbous, beer-gut. I've said this a thousand times and I'll say it again; I'm no goddess, and I've got some hail damage on the ole' thighs and buns among other issues, but I do try to take care of myself. An obvious, flabby, beer gut shows no effort to take care of oneself and is just unattractive - period. Trying to imagine him thrusting his man parts into my girly bits made me throw up in my mouth a little. And, lets face it - you date because you want someone to thrust their man parts into your girly bits!
Let me clarify something important -it's not all about physique. I'm attracted to some odd things (Professor Dan and Cee-Lo Greene -neither with outstanding physiques), so I can't say that it was only his bulbous beer belly that turned me off. Something just wasn't there for me - period.
With that being said, by the end of the night I was pretty sure he wasn't into me either. He didn't talk much, drank A LOT, and didn't really seem interested. He gave me cab fare, I went home and assumed that would be the end of it.
A couple of days later, to my shock and amazement, he asked me out again. Then, I was bewildered. I've always told myself to give it at least two dates. Maybe we'd be less nervous and I would focus less on his belly. I didn't feel it was fair to pretend to feel something that I didn't feel and hope that I suddenly felt it, so I said no.
Now I don't know about you, but I've been shot down and rejected A LOT. You learn to just deal with it an move on. No need to dwell or fret. It's their loss, right? Well apparently this douche bag is pissed at me for not being interested and has been talking some kind of trash about how I drink too much and how I was a waste of his money. Hey, Dick Head...FUCK OFF!
There are positive points and negative points about going out with people who know people you know. Positive - there are less walls to break through because they've proven themselves to the people you trust. Negative - they talk shit to your mutual friends and your mutual friends get stuck in the middle. In the case of my friends, they pass along the juicy tidbits. :)
So, I say to you Angry Beer-Gut Dude - get the fuck over it and move on. We met once for drinks. You offered to pay. You offered to buy me a cab. I never made any promises and neither did you. We're both adults, so act like it. I do not want, nor do I need the drama. NEXT!
I told you the story of date #2 - "Bad Dental Work Dude." His partial didn't touch the top of his gums, leaving a gaping hole for food and spit to escape through. Bleh.
I was going to leave this guy out of the Wrath of Spiffy, but he's succeeded in pissing me off, so I'm taking off the gloves. This post will focus around date #1 - or as I will forever know him - "Angry Beer-Gut Dude."
This is the only guy who I didn't meet through Match. He is a friend of a friend and we actually have a lot of friends in common. When I met him, he was sitting behind a table at a bar. (I put that fact here for a reason...keep reading...).
We chatted and, as it turns out, he's friends with my ex-husband and his whore wife. At first that freaked me out a little, but I thought he was cool and that we'd get along since we seemed to have a lot in common. I overlooked the possible future awkwardness of the two of us running into my ex and the whore at a barbeque where we had to make small-talk about the weather or something else equally insignificant. I figured I'd cross that bridge when we got there, hypothetically speaking, of course.
Fast-forward. We talk, we decide to meet for a drink. The day of said meeting, he offers to pick me up and pay for a cab to take me back home so I wouldn't have to worry about drinking and driving. I was instantly impressed at his chivalry. NO ONE has ever offered to do something like that for me, so he had immediate bonus points. I warned him that it would likely be a pricey ride, but he told me not to worry about it. Come to find out, he has a cabby on his speed dial because of his two previous DUI's and loss of a license. At least he learned his lesson; I'll give him that.
I don't want to cut him down at the knees, so I won't go into a lot of details, but I will say this; I didn't think the date went well. I felt that I had to carry a lot of the conversation and that I did nothing but talk to fill nervous space.
And, if I'm being honest, I wasn't attracted to him. I thought I would be and hoped I would be, but when I saw him standing, I noticed his large, bulbous, beer-gut. I've said this a thousand times and I'll say it again; I'm no goddess, and I've got some hail damage on the ole' thighs and buns among other issues, but I do try to take care of myself. An obvious, flabby, beer gut shows no effort to take care of oneself and is just unattractive - period. Trying to imagine him thrusting his man parts into my girly bits made me throw up in my mouth a little. And, lets face it - you date because you want someone to thrust their man parts into your girly bits!
Let me clarify something important -it's not all about physique. I'm attracted to some odd things (Professor Dan and Cee-Lo Greene -neither with outstanding physiques), so I can't say that it was only his bulbous beer belly that turned me off. Something just wasn't there for me - period.
With that being said, by the end of the night I was pretty sure he wasn't into me either. He didn't talk much, drank A LOT, and didn't really seem interested. He gave me cab fare, I went home and assumed that would be the end of it.
A couple of days later, to my shock and amazement, he asked me out again. Then, I was bewildered. I've always told myself to give it at least two dates. Maybe we'd be less nervous and I would focus less on his belly. I didn't feel it was fair to pretend to feel something that I didn't feel and hope that I suddenly felt it, so I said no.
Now I don't know about you, but I've been shot down and rejected A LOT. You learn to just deal with it an move on. No need to dwell or fret. It's their loss, right? Well apparently this douche bag is pissed at me for not being interested and has been talking some kind of trash about how I drink too much and how I was a waste of his money. Hey, Dick Head...FUCK OFF!
There are positive points and negative points about going out with people who know people you know. Positive - there are less walls to break through because they've proven themselves to the people you trust. Negative - they talk shit to your mutual friends and your mutual friends get stuck in the middle. In the case of my friends, they pass along the juicy tidbits. :)
So, I say to you Angry Beer-Gut Dude - get the fuck over it and move on. We met once for drinks. You offered to pay. You offered to buy me a cab. I never made any promises and neither did you. We're both adults, so act like it. I do not want, nor do I need the drama. NEXT!
Friday, June 17, 2011
F*#$ You!
It's not easy being Spiffy. Sometimes people don't know how to take me and other times I don't know how to think before I speak. There's a fine line between funny and offensive and I typically find myself walking it on a daily basis. Most of the time I think I'm offensively funny, but unfortunately that doesn't work for some people. Be 100% sure that there is no fine line on this post. I'm letting my frustrations out!
I'm sure that there are many other people out there in the same boat. My fellow human beings who wonder about the meaning of life and whether they're living the life they should. My fellow human beings who are often mistreated, misplaced, and misunderstood (thanks, Pink!). My fellow human beings who find it hard to separate themselves into all of the compartments that people want to put them into. My fellow human beings who really just want to be happy and wonder why there are so many unhappy, haters in the world. My fellow human beings who just want to be all that they can be (outside of the Army) without being cut down at the knees. The more I write, the more I seem to relate to fucking Lady Gaga and her 'Little Monsters'. Damnit.
So, I'm using this post to send out a big FUCK YOU to all of the haters on all of our behalf.
FUCK YOU if you think it's OK to make someone feel bad about themselves in an effort to divert attention away from your shitty-self.
FUCK YOU for telling me that I'm not nice.
FUCK YOU for not appreciating me.
FUCK YOU for hurting my feelings and humiliating me.
FUCK YOU for pretending that you're my friend.
FUCK YOU for backing me into a corner that I can't get out of.
FUCK YOU for making me cry. FUCK YOU!
OK, that's enough of the outburst. It's now time to return to introspection and learning how to be a better person. Heaven forbid I offend one other person... :)
I'm sure that there are many other people out there in the same boat. My fellow human beings who wonder about the meaning of life and whether they're living the life they should. My fellow human beings who are often mistreated, misplaced, and misunderstood (thanks, Pink!). My fellow human beings who find it hard to separate themselves into all of the compartments that people want to put them into. My fellow human beings who really just want to be happy and wonder why there are so many unhappy, haters in the world. My fellow human beings who just want to be all that they can be (outside of the Army) without being cut down at the knees. The more I write, the more I seem to relate to fucking Lady Gaga and her 'Little Monsters'. Damnit.
So, I'm using this post to send out a big FUCK YOU to all of the haters on all of our behalf.
FUCK YOU if you think it's OK to make someone feel bad about themselves in an effort to divert attention away from your shitty-self.
FUCK YOU for telling me that I'm not nice.
FUCK YOU for not appreciating me.
FUCK YOU for hurting my feelings and humiliating me.
FUCK YOU for pretending that you're my friend.
FUCK YOU for backing me into a corner that I can't get out of.
FUCK YOU for making me cry. FUCK YOU!
OK, that's enough of the outburst. It's now time to return to introspection and learning how to be a better person. Heaven forbid I offend one other person... :)
Monday, June 13, 2011
Is there anybody out there???
I have a confession. Not like the Red Shoe Diaries or whatever that show was, but maybe just as scandalous...I've decided to join Match.com.
Yes, Spiffy has decided that the "traditional" means of meeting guys (work, friends, gym, random spontaneous manifestation of Bachelor contestants) hasn't been working. Possibilities will present themselves, then something will happen that changes everything. Great guy, but he lives in another state. Nice guy, but he'd rather play head-games. Nice guy, but I'm not attracted to him. You name it, I've experienced it.
I have tried online dating before and met one cool guy. We dated for about a month, and that was it. I don't know what in the hell possessed me to try it again, especially not right now when I've got so many other things going on in my life. Actually, I think it was the picture of the hot guy who allegedly emailed me. I couldn't read the email unless I joined and apparently I was feeling weak and horny at the moment...
There is a lot of stigma surrounding online dating. Only desperate, lonely, losers meet people online. You know, those people who have a closet full of skin suits and a credit card full of online porn charges? Well, I'm not one of those people. I mean, my suits are natural fiber and who needs porn with a mind like mine!? I'd like to think that I could meet someone just as (almost) normal as I am. Maybe??
Allow me to share the experience of my first Match.com date with you and let you be the judge. Enter Dave. I liked his profile pics and his profile was fairly well written. We met for brunch and as soon as I shook his hand I got the heebie-jeebies. He looked at me like I was a piece of meat, and then he smiled (insert suspenseful music segue).
Sometime during his 40+ years he had his four front teeth knocked out of his head. Apparently he had his dental work completed at "Dentists-R-Us" because there was a big gap between his top gums, and the top of his fake front teeth. I spent the entire brunch staring into his mouth through the tooth gap, praying that the teeth didn't fall out into his Belgian waffle.
It was so disturbing and disgusting. I tried so hard to look him in the face but I couldn't stop staring! Top that with the fact that he had the personality of a paper plate, I was in and out in 55 minutes flat.
Spiffy is no quitter, so I'm going to stick with it and see what happens. Open mind, open heart, open to possibilities. In the meantime, if you know any hot guys... :)
Yes, Spiffy has decided that the "traditional" means of meeting guys (work, friends, gym, random spontaneous manifestation of Bachelor contestants) hasn't been working. Possibilities will present themselves, then something will happen that changes everything. Great guy, but he lives in another state. Nice guy, but he'd rather play head-games. Nice guy, but I'm not attracted to him. You name it, I've experienced it.
I have tried online dating before and met one cool guy. We dated for about a month, and that was it. I don't know what in the hell possessed me to try it again, especially not right now when I've got so many other things going on in my life. Actually, I think it was the picture of the hot guy who allegedly emailed me. I couldn't read the email unless I joined and apparently I was feeling weak and horny at the moment...
There is a lot of stigma surrounding online dating. Only desperate, lonely, losers meet people online. You know, those people who have a closet full of skin suits and a credit card full of online porn charges? Well, I'm not one of those people. I mean, my suits are natural fiber and who needs porn with a mind like mine!? I'd like to think that I could meet someone just as (almost) normal as I am. Maybe??
Allow me to share the experience of my first Match.com date with you and let you be the judge. Enter Dave. I liked his profile pics and his profile was fairly well written. We met for brunch and as soon as I shook his hand I got the heebie-jeebies. He looked at me like I was a piece of meat, and then he smiled (insert suspenseful music segue).
Sometime during his 40+ years he had his four front teeth knocked out of his head. Apparently he had his dental work completed at "Dentists-R-Us" because there was a big gap between his top gums, and the top of his fake front teeth. I spent the entire brunch staring into his mouth through the tooth gap, praying that the teeth didn't fall out into his Belgian waffle.
It was so disturbing and disgusting. I tried so hard to look him in the face but I couldn't stop staring! Top that with the fact that he had the personality of a paper plate, I was in and out in 55 minutes flat.
Spiffy is no quitter, so I'm going to stick with it and see what happens. Open mind, open heart, open to possibilities. In the meantime, if you know any hot guys... :)
Monday, May 30, 2011
Hmmmm....
Things That Perplex Me - by Spiffy Chick
- The main street in front of my house has two lanes in each direction in addition to a turn lane. Why in the H. E. double hockey sticks can't morons turn into ONE lane and then into their turn lane? Why stradle the lanes and turn impatient drivers like me into horn-honking bitches??! It's not like you're in a Humvee for fuck's sake. You'll fit neatly into your turn lane. Try it!
- Why am I becoming less and less of a believer in true love and romance in my real life, but I let movies like Avatar get me all teary-eyed? Seriously, I'm a sap for movie love stories. I came across "Failure to Launch" with Sarah Jessica Parker and Matthew McConaughey on TBS this morning and found myself believing the stupid story. I mean come on...how could Terry Bradshaw and Kathy Bates bump uglies and make something as hot as MMc? It would never happen! Oh, and Avatar made me want to become an alien...then maybe I'd be understood... Balls!
- How much did they pay the writers of the Hangover 2? Whatever it was, it was too much. I'm pretty sure they took the first script, changed a few lines, changed the location and voila! So disappointing...although I did still want to ride Bradley Cooper like a wild pony and found myself wondering whether I could find a "girly-boy" show in KC...
- Why can't guys make plans if they want to see you? Do you really think we're going to drop everything because you texted us at 4pm to see "what's up"? Apparently you do, so let me answer this question for you - no. Try making actual plans at least a day in advance. You'd be amazed at how much more receptive women are to plans. Remember the three P's: Plans = possible play. I have to leave "possible" in there because you still may screw it up we all need an out.
- I cashed in frequent flyer miles last year for a subscription to The Economist and I continue to get magazines. Each week I open my mailbox and there is another Economist staring at me, reminding me of the unrequited love of Professor Dan. Who is Professor Dan, you ask? He was my Econ teacher. I fell in lust with his big, beautiful brain a couple of years ago and asked him out at the end of the semester. I drew a "Production Possibilities" chart comparing coffee to conversation. "More coffee = more conversation, Professor Dan...want to have coffee with me and find out?" Alas, we did not have the chance to test the theory of my chart. Probably for the best since he was missing one of his legs from the knee down and that could have thrown a wrench into sexy time...(I kid. Professor Dan if you ever read this, know that we'd have a lot of production possibilities...)
- Do people actually think they will get their way if they throw a shit-fit and start demanding action? Case in point - last week I was checking into my flight. My flight was delayed and I was disappointed, but I know that you'll get more flies with sugar, so I smiled all the way through. She put me on a direct flight and gave me $13 in vouchers. SCORE! (Oh wait...they aren't good for booze...damn.) The douchbag next to me started yelling at the lady behind the counter, making excuses as to why he hadn't checked into the flight that was leaving in five minutes. Yadda yadda. "I'm active duty military!" Yadda, yadda. "I ship out in a month!" Yadda yadda. "You're a fucking idiot!" Then, after being told over and over that he couldn't get on the flight, he started screaming like a two-year old. No shit. Literally growling, grunting, screaming. It was the most disgusting display of childish disrespect I've ever seen and I hope someone got his information and reported him to his superior. Shame on you!
- I have a thing for food shoved into pastries or pasta. For some reason if you take meat, cheese and a veggie and shove it into something and fry it up, my taste buds automatically assume it's going to kick serious ass! It's so convenient and compact; two of the main discerning factors when considering meals, right along with "what can I dip it in" and "will it make me gassy"? Wontons - awesome. Crab rangoon - delicious. Spanakopita - sinful. Pierogies - a waste of chewing. I now need to re-think my food factors...
- We've had some really bad storms in the midwest this month. The tornado that took out Joplin has made everyone a little jumpy when the wind starts blowing. Last week we had a real-life tornado warning at work and had to take cover. We've had plenty of drills reviewing what to do in the event of an actual warning, but as we were heading four stories under ground into our concrete parking garage, I finally found myself wondering, "what the fuck are they thinking?" Why would we want to be stuck under tons of concrete should a tornado decide to take out our eight story building? Does that seem logical to you? Luckily nothing happened and we all went back to work after an hour and a half. Although while I was stuck underground, I did start eliminating who I would and wouldn't eat if it came down to it. There is this one hot guy who would be top of my list to eat. He's pretty muscly, but let's just say I wouldn't start with his biceps... :)
Until I find more perplexities...
- The main street in front of my house has two lanes in each direction in addition to a turn lane. Why in the H. E. double hockey sticks can't morons turn into ONE lane and then into their turn lane? Why stradle the lanes and turn impatient drivers like me into horn-honking bitches??! It's not like you're in a Humvee for fuck's sake. You'll fit neatly into your turn lane. Try it!
- Why am I becoming less and less of a believer in true love and romance in my real life, but I let movies like Avatar get me all teary-eyed? Seriously, I'm a sap for movie love stories. I came across "Failure to Launch" with Sarah Jessica Parker and Matthew McConaughey on TBS this morning and found myself believing the stupid story. I mean come on...how could Terry Bradshaw and Kathy Bates bump uglies and make something as hot as MMc? It would never happen! Oh, and Avatar made me want to become an alien...then maybe I'd be understood... Balls!
- How much did they pay the writers of the Hangover 2? Whatever it was, it was too much. I'm pretty sure they took the first script, changed a few lines, changed the location and voila! So disappointing...although I did still want to ride Bradley Cooper like a wild pony and found myself wondering whether I could find a "girly-boy" show in KC...
- Why can't guys make plans if they want to see you? Do you really think we're going to drop everything because you texted us at 4pm to see "what's up"? Apparently you do, so let me answer this question for you - no. Try making actual plans at least a day in advance. You'd be amazed at how much more receptive women are to plans. Remember the three P's: Plans = possible play. I have to leave "possible" in there because you still may screw it up we all need an out.
- I cashed in frequent flyer miles last year for a subscription to The Economist and I continue to get magazines. Each week I open my mailbox and there is another Economist staring at me, reminding me of the unrequited love of Professor Dan. Who is Professor Dan, you ask? He was my Econ teacher. I fell in lust with his big, beautiful brain a couple of years ago and asked him out at the end of the semester. I drew a "Production Possibilities" chart comparing coffee to conversation. "More coffee = more conversation, Professor Dan...want to have coffee with me and find out?" Alas, we did not have the chance to test the theory of my chart. Probably for the best since he was missing one of his legs from the knee down and that could have thrown a wrench into sexy time...(I kid. Professor Dan if you ever read this, know that we'd have a lot of production possibilities...)
- Do people actually think they will get their way if they throw a shit-fit and start demanding action? Case in point - last week I was checking into my flight. My flight was delayed and I was disappointed, but I know that you'll get more flies with sugar, so I smiled all the way through. She put me on a direct flight and gave me $13 in vouchers. SCORE! (Oh wait...they aren't good for booze...damn.) The douchbag next to me started yelling at the lady behind the counter, making excuses as to why he hadn't checked into the flight that was leaving in five minutes. Yadda yadda. "I'm active duty military!" Yadda, yadda. "I ship out in a month!" Yadda yadda. "You're a fucking idiot!" Then, after being told over and over that he couldn't get on the flight, he started screaming like a two-year old. No shit. Literally growling, grunting, screaming. It was the most disgusting display of childish disrespect I've ever seen and I hope someone got his information and reported him to his superior. Shame on you!
- I have a thing for food shoved into pastries or pasta. For some reason if you take meat, cheese and a veggie and shove it into something and fry it up, my taste buds automatically assume it's going to kick serious ass! It's so convenient and compact; two of the main discerning factors when considering meals, right along with "what can I dip it in" and "will it make me gassy"? Wontons - awesome. Crab rangoon - delicious. Spanakopita - sinful. Pierogies - a waste of chewing. I now need to re-think my food factors...
- We've had some really bad storms in the midwest this month. The tornado that took out Joplin has made everyone a little jumpy when the wind starts blowing. Last week we had a real-life tornado warning at work and had to take cover. We've had plenty of drills reviewing what to do in the event of an actual warning, but as we were heading four stories under ground into our concrete parking garage, I finally found myself wondering, "what the fuck are they thinking?" Why would we want to be stuck under tons of concrete should a tornado decide to take out our eight story building? Does that seem logical to you? Luckily nothing happened and we all went back to work after an hour and a half. Although while I was stuck underground, I did start eliminating who I would and wouldn't eat if it came down to it. There is this one hot guy who would be top of my list to eat. He's pretty muscly, but let's just say I wouldn't start with his biceps... :)
Until I find more perplexities...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)