Not Your Average Yoga Class

Me today at work:

Pull out chair at desk . . . ow
Sit down . . . ow
Roll forward to reach my desk . . . double ow
Turn on computer . . . little ow
Realize I have a meeting in 10 minutes that is upstairs and in a different wing . . . oh shit ow

No I am not "hitting the gym" extra hard to get my bod summer/swimsuit/cruise ready (feel free to laugh). No, no. I am doing something more challenging. I am bringing my spirit and my physical wellness to a whole new level by melding the two together in the form of downward dog and other various animal poses (including fire hydrant (and no I am not lying, and it IS ok to laugh)).

I joined Sunstone Yoga recently, and for 60 or 90 minutes (depending on if you want the strenuous "stretching and alignment" to be super intense, but for a shorter period of time, or not as intense, but for a kick-ass period of time), you work your way through various yoga poses in a room heated to 98.6 F with 60% humidity. Basically, you are paying $$ to work out in conditions similar to the average early July-ish summer day in Texas. HOT!

Old yoga, for me, used to conjure up images of light stretching and maybe some humming for good measure. In the few classes that I took, I would easily get bored, thinking that I would rather be spending time doing cardio or that I should be doing something more productive like cleaning my house instead of pretending to enjoy touching my toes. However, with classes called Fire 90 and Metal, Sunstone Yoga isn't your average yoga class. It's intense. The poses are designed to stretch your body and crank up your heart rate, giving you an all over toning workout without having to deal with all the skin-fried boys grunting with satisfaction at themselves at the local gym. At the end of class, a powerful exhaustion comes over me as I lay in savasana, and I have to say that it is the most wonderful sense of completeness and serenity that I can comprehend. Words cannot describe it, but I imagine it is similar to a runner's high.

Yesterday I took a particularly difficult Wood class which has more pilates (read ab strengthening exercises) than the average yoga class. It was fantastic! I slept like a baby last night. And today I am feeling the pain pretty much everywhere (but in such a good way!)

I plan on getting everyone I know hooked on hot yoga becaue it is just that awesome!

I Helped Save Someone's Life on Friday

So last weekend, I decided to head south to H-town for my mom's best friend's 60th birthday party (don't judge . . . because those ladies can drink and make fools of themselves with the best of them). Anyway, since I was in town, I decided that a meet up with two of my girlfriends from college was in order. Originally, we were going to hit up a Greek or pizza place for dinner, then head to a bar around Rice Village, but due to me just being plain lazy and tired from driving from Dallas, I convinced them to come to me instead in the suburbs. And good thing I did!

Because . . .

Oh, first let me tell you that I got to Lupe Tortilla's Mexican restaurant early to put our names on the list and promptly headed to the bar for a pre-fajita margarita. There I encountered some veeerrry friendly bartenders who insisted on giving me the "tequila special" which consisted of extra shots of tequila in my 'rita followed by bottomless frozen margaritas-no salt. Once my friends arrived, I introduced them to my bartender favorito, who was an equal opportunity flirt, and he made sure we were all taken care of. Soon after, our table was ready and we spent the next couple of hours gossiping, eating, and drinking (c/o Julian the bartender). All of a sudden, we heard a commotion behind us . . . (and this is where the "because" leaves off).

We turned around, and saw a father attempting to give his son the Heimlich maneuver over and over. The son was obviously choking on something. Being the helpful person that I am, I immediately turned to my friend Laura, aka, Nurse Margarita, and said, "you're a nurse! (duh), go help him!" Then I turned to the mother and said "my friend's a nurse!" Anyway, Nurse Margarita shooed everyone away and began giving this kid, who was about a foot taller than she was, the Heimlich maneuver. Now, unlike TV, this wasn't just once or twice boom it's over, this was over and over, to the point where I was like, "wow, maybe I should call 911 because this kid is not going cough up whatever he is choking on." But, my Florence Nightingale made it happen and eventually a red and white dinner mint shot out of the boy's throat, and he was ok. I was very proud of my friend for doing all of the hard work and saving the kid's life, but I was also equally proud of myself for being too lazy to drive into Houston and for insisting that we stay local and go to THIS restaurant. I mean, what if I had decided on sushi instead? I guess we will never know.

Anyway, after that, Julian came over once more for a complementary refill and said that we had earned all of our extra drinks. Heck yeah we did!

I Am More Ghetto Than You Think

Last night, a few friends and I got together to celebrate my friend Mike's birthday (happy birthday Mike!). We basically sat around eating pizza and cake, drinking wine, and chatting about the most random things ever, including the evolution of ghetto speak. I don't know exactly how this subject was brought up. But I do know that I am more ghetto than you think.

Seriously! I was thinking about it, and I throw out more random rap song words in my every day vocabulary than you would imagine for a blonde, white, young professional. I mean, I call my mom "Shortie". She used to look at me blankly when I called her that, but now she understands that most likely, her name will be followed by "want a drank." As in, "Shortie want a drank?" And we usually follow this up with a couple of flutes of champagne topped with OJ. For money, I almost always prefer the use of "bone." As in, this cost me "ten bone." For something more expensive or for a bigger purchase, I may refer to money in "Gs" (even if "G" in my mind only stands for a couple of George Washingtons, or G Dubs, not actual "thousands of dollars" (which I most likely don't have). Example, "so, I went to Macy's this weekend and spent some Gs on a couple of new dresses." Oh and my day is totally made if I can incorporate the word "fitty" into it. As in "fitty cent" or "fitty bone." My car is sometimes referred to as my "ride." The gun I don't own, but would love to is always referred to as my 9, even if if it's not an actual Nine Mil.
The funny part is that these words are incorporated into my daily conversation as if they are normal conversation and are well understood by all the middle-age people that I work with. In fact, this lady at work told me that she was traveling to Detroit for work later than afternoon to meet with our customers. I immediately asked if she was packin'. She said, well yeah I'm packed. The plane leaves at 1pm! I was like, "No no. You misunderstand. Are you packin' as in bang bang, not 'I brought my nice work slacks'? Haven't you ever seen 8 Mile?" She laughed, but did I really need to explain myself for her to get it? A regular Gangster Joe would have got it the first time.

And speaking of Gangster Joe, the most legit way I know that I am more ghetto than you think is because for a while, a real life gangster/drug runner/man looking for love in the all the wrong places was text messaging me on a weekly basis. He called me Sydney and had met me in "da club." Houston I am guessing, just because he had an 832 number, as do I. He had a penchant for texting me details about his illegal activities and other ahem things. I tried to tell him I was not Sydney, but he didn't believe me and responded with a "Nawwwww." Poor sap didn't want to accept that his true luv from da club gave him a random person's phone number. Like my friend James said, he probably thought I was just playing hard to get. Eventually my lil' Thug realized I was playing impossible to get and quit texting me, but in my heart I know I'm legit and can pull off the discourse of street-seasoned ghetto heiress.

Yeah . . .Hi

So yeah . . . hi. Remember me? Nope. That's ok. I barely remembered I had this blog. And then when I did remember it, I held my head down in shame that I had not an interesting thing to write about. But, people kept bugging me to write about anything, so here I am.

Question for you: Do you know how long a foreign object can stay inside the stomach of a dog before finally coming out one end or the other?

Before answering, first, a little background. My dog Jackson, now almost two, has a taste for the finer fabrics in life . . . cotton, terry cloth, high-end wash rags, etc. So, last year, after $1K in tummy surgery, I banned cloth dog toys because Jackson enjoyed not only chewing these items up, but ingesting them as well. He has gotten by since then on tennis balls, ham bones, and large rubber toys.

Then, over Christmas this past year, he stayed at my aunt and uncle's house while I was shacked up at a hotel. Now, my aunt spoils her dog like a grandmother spoils a grandchild. Jackson received royal star treatment complete with sleep-overs on the bed (head on pillow I am sure), a bounty of toys, and a fellow cat and dog to run around with.

Things were going wonderfully when on Christmas Day, my cousin met me at the door to the house with, "So, ok, don't be mad, but (insert long pause) . . . Jackson ate one of Blue's craw fish toys (insert long pause) . . . but it wasn't really that big of a piece and I got most of it away from him. . . I really think he's going to be ok."

At that point visions of $ signs were dancing in my head, but I poured myself a mimosa and put on my mellow hat and said that I guess we'd just have to wait and see. Well, things actually turned out well because I had totally forgotten about it when a few weeks ago (yes, as in like 30 days after the incident), I woke up to find something gross on the rug by my front door. Like any good Mama, I got out the plastic gloves and unravelled the thing that had been hacked onto my carpet and discovered something red, cloth, and eerily crawfish-esque in appearance.

I looked at my dog in disbelief. Jackson had been harboring a hostage in his little tummy for a whole month. A WHOLE MONTH people!!! How does this happen? What was it doing all that time? And what the hell is that shit made of? I would have thought stomach acid or something would have broken it down, but no! I could have popped it in the wash and regifted for Xmas 2010! Of course, I'm not going to. . . but you get the picture.

A whole month! Gotta be some sort of record.

Turkey Day

I cannot believe it is already Thanksgiving week. My mind is stuck in summer and my body has jumped ahead to its annual post-holiday winter weight. The last part is mainly due to a terrific "extended" summer of BBQs, beer, and finding something to celebrate every week. Current goal? Eat a light, yet satisfying meal on Thursday. Wish me luck.

This Thanksgiving will be spent at my parents with 12 other family members. My mom usually prepares the entire meal, but this year I kindly asked if we could have a side dish or two that was slightly healthier than her usual menu. If it's not soaking in butter or sugar, my mom doesn't find it worth eating. Mind you she's 122 pounds and clearly does not understand the restrictions of a slow metabolism or the concept of Weight Watchers (something that I have to follow to a T). While she won't give up her menu, she is letting me make three dishes. Cranberry sauce, mashed sweet potatoes, and a surprise dish. I tested Bourbon Pecan Sweet Potato Mash tonight and it was bland at best, so now I am on a desperate search for a good sweet potato recipe. My surprise recipe? Brussels Sprouts with Crisp Prosciutto. Don't hate. I tested these tonight as well and they are DELICIOUS. If anyone knows of a great sweet potato recipe, please share! My mom is already making the traditional yams, brown sugar, butter, and marshmallow casserole, so that's out.

In the spirit of Thanksgiving, I would like to leave you with a few things I am thankful for:
1. Family
2. Having a job
3. Our Troops

Things I am not thankful for include co-workers clipping their fingernails at their desk (or on airplanes) and whoever it is that insists on heating up fish in the open kitchen area that is by my desk. Come on people, let's practice some common courtesy.

The End of an eHarmony Era

So, the countdown has begun . . . I officially have only four more days left on my eHarmony subscription before it expires. A large part of me says good riddance to this money sucking, hope-draining total letdown of a service. Let me provide you with some statistics: I have been an eHarmony subscriber since April or so. In that time, eHarmony has matched me with over 200 guys. Out of those 200 guys, I have met three of them, gone on four dates, and had one almost date with a weird guy who my intuition told me to call and cancel with.

Is the problem me? In many ways yes. I tend to agonize over small details like, why doesn't this guy understand the difference between 'to' and 'too'? and why is this guy afraid to upload a decent picture of himself?, which in turn leads me to either close the match or ignore his profile.

Of course, there are other things too that are not in anybody's control such as where a person lives. The truth is, you can both live in the Dallas area, but it still might take an hour to meet that person, depending on where they live. One hour is practically long-distance, and nobody is looking for that sort of relationship.

No, in the spirit of the "it's not my fault" mentality, I blame my failure on eHarmony itself. I used to think online dating was the most wonderful concept. If you think about it, with online dating, it is presumed that all others on the service are single, unlike at a bar (or a dog park, in my case) where you see a really hot guy, even talk to him, but he may have a GF and you are out of luck. A person is also free to assume that for a paying service such as eHarmony, and also for a service that markets itself on matching people based on their personality characteristics, that one is getting access to quality people who all have the same goal: to find someone they are compatible with, that they have chemistry with, and that they can see themselves with in the long term.

I was wrong. The concept itself is counter to the way humans are programmed to make connections. The fact is that having access to all of these single guys while being forced to form an initial impression based only on their profiles is nothing short of an impossibility masked as opportunity. You can't win that game. Since a person is unable to use normal senses of sight, sound, and feeling, they must therefore make a judgment about the other person based solely on the words and pictures that the person has provided. With all the time in the world to peruse profiles, evaluate the meaning and undertones of a description, and then finally conduct and respond to questions and emails with as much time as one wishes, of course, a person becomes picky and lazy at the same time.

The truth is that NOTHING can replace human contact as a first impression. I am quite certain that many of the guys whose profiles I chose to ignore or not email, I might have had a connection with in real life, but for whatever reason, due to their picture or the way they described themselves, I had to make an assumption about that person, whether wrong or right, that we were probably not compatible. When two people meet in real life, they converse and react based on visual and audio queues which help guide the conversation and prevent word vomit or TMI. However, sentences in a profile can easily be misinterpreted because there is no other way to understand the words on a computer other than to take them at face value.

It kills me that I paid for a service for which I had no return on investment. The only good thing to come out of it was the realization that I am not the only one in the "still single and 26" boat, and I am not the only one who fell for that deceptively optimistic eHarmony commercial featuring "real subscribers" who are now happily coupled.

Blog Catch Up: A Five-Parter

My life has actually been quite busy since I last posted, so I have broken up this post based on all the topics worth discussing.

1. Where the Wild Things Are (Not) Part 2:

Last week I wrote about an uninvited guest that was currently inhabiting my chimney. Of course, not two hours after Animal Control came to my house to assess the situation and determined the animal to be gone, I hear the damn thing rattling around my chimney once more. That was last Tuesday, and I am happy to say that it appears the animal has moved on to a more hospitable home. Lucky for me, it appears no death occurred which also means no awful smell invaded my walls, and also no GUILT on my part! I do feel sorry for the one reader that posted about her rat experience. I am glad my animal and I parted ways on amicable terms.

2. Eharmony Date with Jake:

Last Thursday I went on date #1 with Jake, a guy from Eharmony. I was super excited about meeting Jake because he exhibited all the good signals a girl can hope for: good profile pics, smart and funny email responses, taller than me when I'm wearing heels, etc. We met for drinks at Gordon Brewery (I know, what is it with that place that every guy wants to go there for date #1???) and talked for several hours. Again the question of chemistry comes up. Although I definitely would like to go on date #2 with Jake, I have to say that I thought I would feel that instant "click" with him. I felt like we had similar senses of humor when we were emailing, but in person, I may have fallen a little flat. I don't know whether it is because he was nervous or what. I mean, I sometimes forget that just because I don't get nervous before a first date, doesn't mean that others do not. Soooo, I haven't heard from him since Thursday, but if we go out again, I will definitely update to let you know whether there were more sparks.

3. I Met My Dream Boy

Last Friday (the day after my date with Jake), I needed to take Jackson to the dog park before my friend arrived from Houston for the weekend. Jackson was very hyper and needed the exercise, so I grabbed him and without a thought or a care about how greasy and scrubby I looked, we headed for the park. Of course, while we were there, I met my dream guy. Seriously. I. Met. Him. I will call him Dog Park Guy. DPG was way hot, super-nice (we talked for about 30 mins), had a great personality, a great sense of humor, a great dog, and our dogs got along really well! However, I didn't get his number because I am a big chicken and have naturally made the assumption that he has a GF, but if I see him again, I am going to go out on a limb and see if he would like to meet up sometime. Wish me luck.

But, going back to post #2 above, the date with Jake that seemed ok on Thursday, seemed blah compared to the chemistry I felt with the DPG on Friday. With Jake, although I would like to see him again, it's not going to break my heart if we don't. With DPG, I TOTALLY want to see him again, like now. Why can't for just once, the stars be aligned and help a girl out so that she goes out with a guy she is head over heels for after only knowing him for 30 minutes? That so does not happen to me very often!

4. Six Flags Baby!

On Saturday, I went to Six Flags Over Texas in Arlington with a few friends. Let me just say that my inner-kid comes out with the mention of roller coasters. I love those things. A lot. Like, so "a lot" that I rode the Titan three times in a row, and then one final time before leaving the park as a way to say goodbye until next year. That place is awesome, and it wasn't very crowded which allowed my friends and I to ride EVERY roller coaster multiple times if desired, with virtually no wait. I definitely had my hands up and my scream on. PS. They now sell beer at Six Flags, but it is too expensive to drink enough to get a decent buzz on.

5. Umm, is that my underwear?

So yeah, funny story. Before heading to Six Flags on Saturday, my friends and I dropped off our pooches at Paw Beach Resort in Plano, Tx for Doggie Day Care, so we wouldn't have to worry about them while we were living it up on the Titan. We walked in, and Jackson being a regular at day care was ready for play time, but my friend's dog Gabbie needed to check in for her first visit. While my friend was busy with the front desk guy, I was talking to the guy who watches the dogs in the back and playing with Jackson. All of a sudden something caught my eye. About two feet away from me, on the pristine floor of the lobby lay an object that looked familiar. Umm, is that my underwear? Yep. It sure was.

People, I CANNOT even begin to make this shit up. I was mortified, but also very confused because I normally do not feel the need to bring backup underwear with me when I go places. The only reasonable explanation for this occurrence was that due to the evil that is known as static cling, the undies were stuck to the inside of my jeans after drying them and gradually worked themselves down the pant leg and onto the floor. Now, I do not know why they chose that opportune moment to appear in public, and not while I was at home, but that is neither here nor there. The main thing is that Doggie Day Care boy now knows that I wear VS Boy Shorts with the Dog Pattern (fitting, I know), and now so do you. The only sense of pride I have in the whole ordeal, and my friend pointed this out, is that at least they were cute undies and not granny panties.

In Laws

This past weekend my in-laws came in town. My husband and I have not seen them since July and we had a fabulous time. The one thing I realize every time we seem them is how much my husband is like my FIL. It’s scary, but a good scary.

Friday night we went to a nice dinner at La Cima, which is the Las Colinas City Club restaurant and Saturday we showed my FIL the wonder that is Central Market. I don’t think he blinked the entire time we were there. For those of you that don’t know what Central Market is, it is somewhat of a specialty grocery store. They have all the pre-prepared food you can think of, an olive bar about 30 feet long, a salsa bar to match, homemade pastas and bread, any kind of cheese imaginable, and an amazing produce section. The one thing they didn’t have….Halloween candy. They kept pointing me toward the bulk candy. Yeah, because all parents love letting their kids eat unwrapped candy from strangers. Anyway as a side note, we bought candy at another store and we only had FOUR trick-or-treaters. LAME. But I digress.

Saturday night my parents came over and my husband and I made dinner for everyone and then we watched a slideshow of pictures from our Italy trip. I swear I will never make someone watch a video of a vacation, but you will be subjected to digital pictures on the TV screen. The weekend ended with us going to breakfast on Sunday before they headed back down to San Antonio.

I know this type of relationship with in-laws is not always the case. Does anyone have any crazy in-law stories? Anonymous posts are welcomed :)

FW: RE: Your Action

Every office has one of those people who take the job of delegating out work uberseriously. Unfortunately, these people are not your boss, and they are usually not in a position of power; no, no, these are people who don't actually like to do any work themselves, so they try very hard to pass the work onto others. My office has one of these said people. His name is Slacker (not really, but I try to be fair and not use real names), and Slacker really pissed me off today.

Earlier this afternoon, I received an email from Slacker that contained the following statement, "This request should have been directed to you. Your action." Umm, excuse me? Do you mean to tell me that this five page email train where your name is mentioned all over the friggin' place was mistakenly sent to you instead of me? And that the five people copied on this email are so stupid that they put you as the actionee instead of me? And that you think it is ok to "reply to all" and then some to let everyone know that I have the action to complete, when this is the first time I've heard about this issue EVER? And that you think it is acceptable to direct me to do something just because you don't want to have to do it? Who in the hell do you think you are?

Face the facts Slacker! This IS your job, you AREN'T my boss, and QUIT copying every MF*ing person in this office on messages where you deny responsibility and accountability for the tasks you were hired to do!

Deep breath. Please say someone understands where I am coming from? I like my job, and I don't mind doing work that should be mine to do, but what I don't like is for people, like this guy, who think that just by putting the words "Your action" in an email that they have successfully abstained themselves from any responsibility regarding the work.

As the rush of pure hatred filled Princess Tartini's veins (NOT an overreaction by the way because this is not the first time this has happened to me, and I have also witnessed this infuriating behavior happen to others), my first instinct was to shoot back an email also replying to all letting this guy have it big time. However, my cooler senses prevailed, and a sensible email was sent back to Slacker and slacker's boss (who is kind of a pseudo-boss to me) questioning whether or not this was really an appropriate task for my function.

I don't know the outcome yet, but I feel at the very least my point was made: I don't mind doing the work if a supervisor asks me to, but I sure as hell don't take direction from Slacker, and I refuse to allow him to CC me into submission just because he uses email as a broadcast for "not my job".

Where the Wild Things Are

On Sunday, I arrived home from Tucson on time (thank you American Airlines for that wonderful performance) and immediately settled in, unpacked my stuff, and did a little happy dive onto my couch to catch up on my DVRd shows. Not long into Grey's, I heard the weirdest scratching noise that sounded like it was coming from my roof. I ignored it thinking that it was probably a bird on the roof, but the sound persisted. I then decided that further investigation was necessary, and I climbed up in the attic to see if some random animal had made its home in my insulation. Umm, no. I then proceeded outside and tried to look like I knew what I was doing as I surveyed all aspects of my roof from the ground. Still nothing. I went back inside, pressed play, and continued in my happy bliss.

An hour later, the same noise occurred again. This time, after listening very closely, I determined that the noise resembled an animal trapped in some small space that was trying to get a foothold on a slick metal vertical object . . . hmmm, what could that be? Hint: When you start a fire in your fireplace, smoke goes up your _______. Very good kids!

My chimney was the unintended home of a wild thing-I am guessing a squirrel. Crap. After listening to the rattling for a little while, it all but stopped and I headed to bed, completely forgetting about the sound. Apparently, this little guy and I are on the same circadian rhythm because we both slept soundly throughout the night. And also like me, the little guy gets cranky in the mornings, which is when I remembered that I did indeed still have my overnight visitor.

To speed up my little tale, let me just say that there is really no good and easy way to get an animal out of one's chimney. Recommendations made by colleagues and my dear dad included: smoke it out, open the damper and let it fall into a box, call animal control, let it die and then fall into said box . . .

I pay taxes, and being new to the city, I decided to check out my local animal control who recommended a trap. They even came by to look up the chimney and help me set up the trap. Apparently, my wild thing is either a little shy or has the ability to disappear into thin air because the office could not see anything caught in the chimney. She told me that the animal might have freed itself, but to call back if I heard any more noises.

People, I am here to tell you, that this intruder is back. In fact, I am listening to him rumble around and get ready for bed as I write this post. Looks like I am going to have to get the trap and see what I can do about enticing the wild thing out of my chimney.

Stay tuned for Part II of this story, but to keep you intrigued, I will tell you that it will either end in a sad death (not mine), a story of survival and hope (yes, mine), or me possibly contracting the disease called rabies. Luckily, from the show The Office, I happen to know that rabies is curable-so I'm really not that worried, but I'll let you know what happens.

I have spent the most wonderful week in Arizona. My trip started out on Tuesday in Scottsdale for a business conference where I was able to network, listen to amazing speakers, and most importantly, catch up with old friends, including a former crush of mine. Not to worry, there was no round deux for me (a test I was not sure if I would be able to pass). But, everything seemed to work out fine and I think this is why:

What I have realized is that more times than not, the grass is greener on the other side. And when you you are faced with staring over to that lush, green "other side" day in and day out, it kind of makes it kind of hard to move on and it becomes very easy to convince yourself that somehow, life with that boy, or with that job, or whatever would be way better than what you have growing in your own backyard. However, lucky for me, I was able to move away and with time, I didn't think about this guy as much . . . and then not at all. Seeing him again only reminded me that sometimes having amazing "chemistry" does not necessarily translate into endless love.

After the conference was over on Thursday, I headed down south to my old stomping ground, Tucson, with my good friend V. Our plans consisted of sleeping in late, hitting up our favorite Tucson restaurants, and catching up on all kinds of crazy gossip.

Thus far, we have been successful in all endeavours. In 1.5 days, we have hit up 5 different restaurants!! Umm, yeah, I went on a 5-day cruise last year and didn't gain a pound. I am pretty sure a 3-day trip to Tucson is going to net me at least a +5 on the scale. That = not cool. However, the taste of Cafe Poca Cosa on the lips = totally worth it. Oh, and seeing a hot bartender dressed up for Halloween in an authentic flight suit from his Army days was a totally yummy experience that I would not trade in for anything. *Note of Importance: There is just not enough of that manly hotness going on in Dallas! Dallas needs more flight suits!

Tonight we will hit up a Halloween party where I will most definitely NOT be dressed up. And then tomorrow, I will head back to "the land of the beautiful-no matter what the cost." Speaking of the old adage "the grass is always greener on the other side." I sometimes wonder what it would have been like to stay in Tucson instead of moving to Dallas. Being here has made me realize once again, that the grass may be greener in certain places, but that I really did make the right choice in moving back to Texas.

No Payment Is Necessary

Last Saturday I had a revelation. Do you want to know what it was? Well, it all started when I agreed to attend a 60th birthday party with my father while my mom was on vacay in Italy (yes, I agree it's a shame that Queen Gin&Tonic and Sweet N' Lo could not meet up for cappuccinos while they were both there), but I digress.

First, let me just let you know that 60 is like the new 40 -but better. I mean, back in the day, 60 was old (to me anyway). Now, 60 is retired, custom-built house on a hill with a view, and plenty of beer and wine. So, I went to this party expecting to have a fairly good time with my father and some of his fun-loving friends, and ended up meeting one of the 20-something sons of the couple that threw the party.

I guess the whole "revelation" thing started when I realized that I would not have to hand over my 16-digit credit card number in order to "view his profile" a la Eharmony. In fact, I owed this guy no payment at all except for good conversation in return for his. We ate, drank, and talked pretty much all night long about everything in the world and nothing in particular. I could tell he was into me because a) after we would drift apart in the crowd, he would come and find me; b) he is a Longhorn, but still checked the A&M v. Tech football score for me; and c) would say things like, "Wow, I think I am telling you way more about myself than you would ever want to know." Yeah, kind of, but it was also kind of refreshing to be around someone who wasn't trying so hard to be cool that his personality was a big fat zero.

Unfortunately, this guy lives in H-Town and I live north of Big D . . . so . . . yeah . . . that stretch of 45 is just so painful. But here's the deal: He invited me to be his "Charlie" from Top Gun for Halloween, but I had to say no due to plans to visit friends in Tucson, but we exchanged numbers at the party anyway.

And he called tonight. Seriously. I paid for no subscription. I wasn't at a fancy bar wearing my "keeping up with the Ashley's" trendy look. I mean, this was like a simple five step process. The very thing movies are made of! We said hello. We talked. He asked for my number. He called. He asked to see me again. BAM!

Now, I am in no way saying that I am in love at first sight with this guy. I don't even know him, but I just find it amazing that after months of paying Eharmony to introduce me to singles in my area that are compatible with my personality on "28 different points", that I have personally met only two of them. And free of charge, this guy wants to drive 4 hours north of where he lives and take me to a Dallas Stars game (or whatever I want to do).

There is something either really wrong or really right with this situation.

Italia

Well my husband and I got back late last night from ten fabulous days in Italy. As you may have read in an earlier post, we traveled with another couple and I have to say that it could not have gone better! We had a terrific time together.

We started the trip in Rome and despite what people say, you can see Rome in a day or two. Don't get me wrong, we hit the ground running as soon as we got there and we walked the entire city over the course of the two days. We did a tour of the Vatican, which I highly recommend because we learned a lot and more importantly got to skip the massive line outside the entrance.

Our next destination was the Amalfi coast. On the way down we stopped in Naples for a pizza (the pizza was amazing, the town was scary) and then took the local train to Pompeii. I had higher expectations for Pompeii, but I am still glad we saw it. After Pompeii we continued on the train to the Amalfi Coast and it was absolutely beautiful. One of the days we took a private boat tour to and around the Isle of Capri. I have to say I think that was my favorite part of the vacation.

After the Amalfi Coast we went to Florence for three days. We did a Tuscany Bike Tour and it was killer and a killer. They aren't lying when they say the Tuscany area is full of hills. We rode to a winery owned by Prince Cosini and after a tour of the winery we had lunch and two glasses of wine. Unfortunately, the wine did not make the hills on the return bike ride any easier.

After Florence we headed back to Rome for one last day before our flight out. It was a relaxing day just walking around the town. Overall it was a great trip, but I am glad to be home. The flight from Rome to NY was 10.5 hours (including an hour sitting on the runway) and the trip from NY to Dallas was 8 hours (including four hours of sitting on the runway, I'm still annoyed about that). Needless to say I am exhausted and tired of being on a plane. The toughest part comes tomorrow....going back to work.

A Whiner Gets Her Way

Many months ago, right before I started blogging, I was allowed the great privilege of guest blogging on my dear friend Mojito Maven's blog, Make Mine A Mojito. On the guest post (http://makemineamojito.com/2009/08/12/why-must-new-shoes-squeak/), I wrote that due to the very horrendous conditions of Company XX's parking lot, that I was forced to buy new black work pumps because my other shoes had been RUINED by all of the potholes and cracks. Now, let me first explain that this isn't your average little parking lot. I am whining for a cause. This parking lot is like, Walmart on a Saturday times two. It is hell, especially if it is raining (like today) or if you have to park way in the back flow lot (like today) because your alarm just wasn't shrill enough to coax you out of bed on time.

Nevertheless, this story has a happy ending, and it is all my fault. Readers--I am practically a Goddess in my office now. To my co-workers, I am the woman who single handedly convinced, no demanded!, in her finest Southern whine, that the entire parking lot be repaved. And you know what? As a result . . . it's being "handled".

Now to be honest (oh dear, I sound like a lying politician), but really, to be honest, my company sends out an employee opinion survey every few years to gauge what Company XX is doing well and what needs work. I used this survey as a sounding board for my parking lot complaint. I told people about it, and most laughed at me. But now, those same people are looking at me with admiration. They are giving me the thumbs up, they are asking me to draft similar complaints because I am proven to get results, and they are giving me their diet-Pepsi at meetings as a thank you.

The parking lot has been under construction this entire week, and every day that I walk past it, I give myself a little pat on the back for a whine well done.

A Whiner gets her way and new shoes will finally be safe from destruction.

Now I Have Seen It All . . .

It's no secret that I am on Eharmony to try to meet an intelligent, good-looking, compassionate man who understands both complicated technology and the concept of giving flowers to a woman for no reason at all. So almost every day, I scour the "new matches" Eharmony has thrown at me in an attempt to decipher the secret written code of the male species, hoping to find the one for me. Tonight was no different. Let me preface this by saying that I know I have mentioned the horrendous pictures guys put on their profiles in what I can only guess is a bad attempt to show humor and individuality, but there is a reason why I have not gone into great detail about this. And the reason is that just when I thought profile pics couldn't get any worse, I saw #1 below.

But first, a count-down of the runner-up worst profile pics a guy can post. I have not made any of these up; I have seen all of these offenses with my very own eyes. My comments are in italics.

5. Guy + hot girl who is not a family member. (Oh, yes, please let me compete against her!)

4. Guy with a large group of other guys who are all drinking beer, with a caption underneath that reads "I'm the one with the least beer belly." (Oh God, don't make me have to take out an extra small tape measure just to figure out which one you are. Guess what, you all have enormous beer bellies and look the same!)

3. Guy with five pictures that all look like different people. (Hmm, but what do you look like today? Are you most like the outdoor picture where you have facial hair? Or most like the pic of you at the bar with your homees and frosted tips and graphic tee? Ahhhhh!)

2. Guy with the "I took this in the bathroom, but forgot to angle out the toilet and Windex the mirror." (Ok, so I know we haven't really technically communicated yet, but I feel like I know you so well and that we have really reached a certain amount of comfort in our relationship. I mean, gosh, I've already seen your grimy toilet and mirror, and we haven't even swapped first questions yet.)

and drum-roll please:

1. Guy and his friend dressed up as "Dick in a box." (Wow, it's awesome that this was your "coming out" profile picture to all those lucky ladies who pay a shitload of money to meet guys on Eharmony. Oh, if only you really were JT!)

Now I have seen it all.

You Did Too!

Today I got into a verbal altercation with a 17-year old high school student, on his turf. My company, Company X decided to teach a negotiation simulation at a local high school today to give high school seniors a chance to act out a real-world negotiation over two competing record companies.

I was a coach. At first, I was like, I am just going to "guide" my team, but let them do most of the thinking. I thought I did a fairly good job of that, but the team we were negotiating with was very positional and demanding without providing very good rationale for their arguments. At one point, the other team was arguing that the 20% royalties my team was asking for was OUTRAGEOUS. I merely pointed out that earlier, they had insisted that my record company was inferior to theirs because they had a record deal with three out of the four band members, while we held only 25% of the assets, so a 20% royalty seemed reasonable to me if we were going to allow an album to be produced under their label and with their complete artistic control. "Did not" was followed by "You did too!" Then, in not so nice words the boy told me to butt out and that I wasn't allowed to talk because I was a coach and not a student. Not gonna lie, that stung, but . . .

What the hell was I doing??? I got into a fight with a 17-year old boy! I am so not mature! My team, of course, had my back, but still-I got a little carried away. In the end my team did not reach any agreement with the other team, which was a bummer, but I was still proud of them because they really acted like a team and learned from the experience.

The only thing that makes me feel better about the whole situation was that one of the other coaches told me that tomorrow she will probably have a bruised and sore tongue because she literally had to bite her tongue in order to keep from piping up during her negotiations.

Well, I told her, at least you still have your pride and didn't get told off by a minor.

"I Thought I Had Responded"

Remember a month or so back when I wrote a super-excited post about this guy from my past who had contacted me out of the blue? Well, after not hearing back from him for several weeks, I finally messaged him on FB to see if he had received my message. In no less than three days time he had responded, and much to my chagrin, he said "I remember getting your note about being in Dallas! I thought I responded but things have been so hectic with school I may have just thought i did. I started law school about 3 weeks ago at Tulsa! Maybe we can catch up when I'm back for the summer!

What? Two sentences in this message strike me as odd:
1) "I thought I had responded?" How do you forget whether you have responded or not to a friend you have not talked to in years? On a conversation that you initiated no less? Yes, I have a forgetful mind at times, but if I go out of the way to contact someone that I have not spoken to in a long time, I sure as hell respond back to their email and remember the act of doing so.

2) "Maybe we can catch up when I'm back for the summer." Summer? As in the summer season that will be occurring after exactly three more seasons have come and gone? Summer, as in after 75% more of a year has passed? Summer, as in the year 2010? Summer, as in after I must claim that I am one year older than I am today? Summer?

Does this strike anyone else as odd? Any thoughts on this behavior?

Please Don't Hate Us for Our Blogging Hiatus

It may seem like Princess Tartini and I have either forgotten our password to our blog page or fallen off the face of the earth, but rest assured we are still here. PT's internet has been down for several weeks, so she has been unable to post. As for me, I have been swamped with work and with planning a trip to Italy. We leave next Wednesday for ten days and will be going to Rome, Sorrento (Amalfi Coast), and Florence. I thought we were getting prepared at a reasonable pace, but now that it is only a week away I am starting to stress with all the little things we have left to do. We are going with another couple, which we have never done before.

Does anyone have any advice or stories about traveling with friends? We would like to remain friends after the trip ;-)

What Kind of Excuse is You "Have to Help Your Friend Move"?

Last week in "How Do I Know If We Have "Chemistry"? I blogged about going out with Andy from Eharmony twice, but not yet knowing whether or not we had chemistry. I wanted to have one more date to see if anything developed one way or another between us. Date number two ended with me asking him if he would like to go to Oktoberfest on Saturday with me and him agreeing.

Friday when I called him up to see if he was still up for going out on Saturday, but to Grapefest instead (we both are self-proclaimed winos), he said "I have to help my friend with something on Saturday, but if we get done early enough I might be able to go." Later that afternoon, I received a text from him stating that he could not go to Grapefest because he was helping a friend move.

Moving? MOVING?? Even Princess Tartini is smart enough to know that if a guy chooses to help a buddy move over going out with a girl, that this is not a good sign. Nobody likes moving. In fact, people make up all kinds of excuses why they can't help a friend move. They don't readily volunteer for moving duty unless they have another obligation that is even worse than sweating up three flights of stairs while balancing a sleeper sofa on your head. So I got it. Really I did. Andy was giving me the passive aggressive "I'm just not that into you" kind of excuse. Fine . . . moving on.

Until . . . .Monday at 12:18 via text message: From Andy: How was ur weekend?

Umm, how do you think my weekend was? Fun except for the fact that I thought we had plans and then you blew me off to help a friend move, which I interpreted to mean that you were not interested. Am I wrong? Has my female intuition failed me?

Seriously, how do I respond to this? I am not his friend. I am only two dates in the hole. Is this a friendly, "I kind of feel bad for giving you a bad excuse why I could not see you and now I am trying to make myself feel better by asking you how your weekend was"? If so, then, how about we not play this game. However, if this is a "I really did have to help my friend move despite the fact that I had already told you last weekend that I would like to get together on Saturday," then the answer is still no. I want to be prioritized higher than "I have to help my friend move."

AAAHHHH!! So frustrating! Should I respond to this text message or file it under "not worth my time?"

P.S. For us elders in the community over 16 years of age, "your" is spelled Y-O-U-R, not U-R!

Time Flies

In a couple of weeks a milestone event will occur. My 10-year High School reunion. I have such mixed emotions about this event. I really haven’t stayed friends with most of my high school friends, so I wonder if this is going to present a certain amount of awkwardness. It’s not that we had a falling out and no longer speak, it’s just that over time we have lost touch. Which makes me wonder, am I crappy friend? I could blame this on Facebook by saying they make it too easy to know what is happening in someone else’s life without even talking to them, but I know that is not the real problem. I feel like so many people have that close group of high school friends that they plan to will be friends with forever. Whereas with me, I make a close friend and then me or the other person moves to another state and we grow apart over time then I make new friends and the cycle starts all over. Plus, the location of the event was recently revealed and I have to say it was a bit of a let down. Shame on me for basing my expectations on what I've seen in movies, but a "cafe" is not what I was expecting for our reunion. Despite this, I am looking forward to going. You get to see what people have made of themselves over the past ten years. Did the popular kids peak in high school? Are the jocks now fat and bald? Are the nerds now rich and married to models? Luckily for me, I am actually proud of what I have done over the past ten years. I am definitely more motivated, more confident, and more successful. Perhaps if I wasn’t then I wouldn’t be going to the reunion.

In preparation of the big event, Princess Tartini and I are going shopping for the perfect outfit. We have dubbed this event “Tartini Saturday” as we will partake in a tasty Tartini (or two) prior to shopping. We also hope to take some pictures, so we can spice up our blog page!