A Date by Friday: My search to find true love with what's left...

July 2010 Or the Update!

2010-07-08T12:40:00.000-05:00

I wanted to send a quick blog post out to let the world/my followers - all 48 of you -know that he proposed!!!!

So, the spinster is getting married. The irony is not lost on me.
May it bring hope to others that there are diamonds in the rough - promise. And if you haven't found one, fuck it - being single is pretty amazing sometimes!

PF

April 30, 2010 or Au revoir

2010-04-30T05:45:00.001-05:00

When I started this blog it was to share my stories of singlehood and help promote my book, How to be a Spinster in 29 Years: A Guidebook. Well, no longer am I single, and my book is still just a file on my laptop.
But I have fallen in love and my life is going in a different direction.
And so it is with a mildly heavy heart that I am writing my last blog entry for "A Date by Friday."
If you just noticed this blog, go ahead and start from the beginning. There is no time line here; bad dating experiences are timeless. Hopefully you will get something out of my blog - even if it is just a laugh.
And if you are an editor...my book is still up for sale.

XOXO,
Pauline Friday

April 9, 2010 or wedding crashers

2010-04-09T07:51:00.002-05:00

Dum dum da dum!
It's Wedding Season in my world. I am now up to six weddings for the 2010 season, the first of which is in two weeks. I am very excited: I adore this couple and am happy for them to finally get married, I'm betting it's open bar, the old gang is getting back together, I have a new dress, and Bryan is coming with me. It will be our first wedding together. That's always a treat. He gets dressed in a suit and tie - yummy. He holds your hand as the couple exchange vows. Then there is the slow dancing. I love a good slow dance and I am excited to get a chance to sway back and forth with my boyfriend. So, I am looking forward to this wedding for several reasons.
Some of my single friends are going to weddings without boyfriends. In exchange I know that they have asked some of their girlfriends to be their dates. For some ridiculous reason, some of these friends are refusing said invitation.
Are you insane?! I don't care if you know the couple or not. This is not about them. Its about you, so let's be selfish here. A wedding is the perfect place to meet someone. I learned this early on. Brad was a boy I met at the wedding of my cousin back in 1992. He was the DJ's son and was there to help his dad set up. He was adorable with brown hair and freckles. Our eyes met at dinner, and we slow danced and small talked all night. I still have a cocktail napkin from that wedding tucked away in a chest somewhere at my parent's house. Since then, I have always enjoyed wedding hookups. Everyone is dressed to the nine's, dancing, happy and drunk. When I was single, I would go to any wedding I could. There are DJ's, bartenders, bouncers, caterers, ministers, and of course friends of the couple whom you would never meet if you were not at this particular wedding. Endless possibilities.
So, as the season begins, I encourage you all to go to weddings as emergency dates. If you are single and dateless for a wedding, do not go alone! Take a friend. A single friend. Hey, if you don't meet anyone, at least you enjoyed the open bar.

Until Next Friday,

Pauline

April 2, 2010 or stupid fucking font.

2010-04-02T08:27:00.002-05:00

I have no idea what the font is doing. I am a writer not a technology person. My apologies.

PF

April 2, 2010 or the hair cut

2010-04-02T08:13:00.023-05:00

As you note in the picture used for this blog to identify me, I have a certain hair cut. My natural hair is stick straight, mousy brown and impervious to hairspray.
When I became single in 2006, I started the daunting task of looking attractive at 28 years old in order to compete with the recent college grads also looking to hook a mate. Aside from losing a little padding weight and buying contacts, I also started growing out my hair. Alongside this, I bought a hair straightener. Viola! A look was born. I have been known for my long, blonde, parted on the side, stick straight hair for three years now.
Most single girls have long hair. Not all, but in general, if you take a poll, men prefer longer hair. It just is. Don't blame me. Alas, women work this length in an effort to lure a man. I did. And it worked. I know Bryan didn't fall in love with me for my hair, but I also know that it didn't hurt.
But that was a long four months ago. Yes, we have made it four months. This is a record for me. And after these four, long, blissful months, I began to look at my crowning glory in a different way. It got in my face (and his) when we were making out. In order to get ready for our dates, I had to schedule a half an hour in for straightening time or else my hair would get a funky kink in it. And, to be frank, the shower became a place for more that just putting a second coat of conditioner on my hair to get out the tangles.
I knew that I needed to get my hair cut, but I was nervous. I didn't want the "girlfriend bob." Ladies, you know.
When a woman gets a man, it is as though she no longer needs to be sexy and the hair loses a good six inches, and is perfectly even on the bottom. A bob. I have rocked a bob before, and it is butchy on me. I don't own a chin...so it kinda emphasizes this. (Are the men still even reading? Or have you given up?)

I needed a hair cut but was very torn on how to approach it so that I didn't look like I was giving up on my sex appeal since I landed a man.
I think I have conquered it. I no longer sport the straight, even, long hair down to my bra strap, but no bob graces my face either. I would like to share my knowledge so that you who are single and trying to explore mating season can benefit from my knowledge when you land the man of your dreams and suddenly start hating your hair.

1. Make sure you are not one week away from or on your period. Bad things happen here. I believe this time of the month is where the two phrases, "I just want it gone!" and "I think I need to go back to my natural hair color" come from. Bad. Bad idea.

2. Go through the magazine rack at home/store/library. Pull the styles you like that are similar to your own cut, but have a little something extra. No extremes. Like you...but different.

3. Find old pictures of you. The worse the better. These will remind you of what did not work for you. If it looked like shit on your head when you were 22, it will look worse now. Trust me. And Halle Berry can kill a short cut, but remember when you tried it senior year of college? Fail. It will bring you back to reality. Carry these in your pocket to the salon in case of Emergency bad decisions.

4. Yes. I said salon. S-A-L-O-N! You must go to a good stylist. I drove to Columbia, Missouri to Crystal at Adair Salon and Spa because she is great. This is no time for a $10 hair cut. Do the research. Find a good person. Get out of the chair immediately if they utter the words "cute bob."

5. Think layers, not length. You should retain your long hair if it worked for you. I look like a chinless man with a pixie cut and a chinless, obese four year old with a bob. Long hair hides my lack of a jaw and slims my chubby cheeks down. So I went for a layered long hair look. Only long sweeping bangs, no blunts. Tell your stylist, "I like the length, but it needs a style."

6. Talk to your boyfriend. Who knows? You might have one of the small minority that really like hair cut to your ears or shorter. If so, getting it chopped will still be an option for him. Bryan said this, "Well, you will look beautiful no matter what." But...."but, I do like long hair." And..."and I like your hair now." Done. No more than two inches disappeared. Always ask him HONEST opinion. Force it out of him.

7. NEVER NEVER NEVER get a dye job and a new cut on the same day. Patience, grasshopper; there is time.

God's speed.

(Once you get married and kids we will discuss the Mom Cut, but for now, let's just all keep our hair pretty, okay?)

Until Next Friday,
Pauline

March 17, 2010 or what to do.

2010-03-17T09:55:00.002-05:00

This blog seems very superfluous to me. I don't try and get a date by Friday and if I do, it is with my boyfriend. I wrote this blog to compliment my book, but that is done being written and now in the works of finding an agent/editor.
My other friends are either dropping like flies into the marriage soup, not dating at all, or no longer talking to me since I met Bryan.
I stare at my laptop screen for minutes at a time at this little typing box going, "Well, fuck if I know what to write about!" I don't want to write about Bryan, even though he is perfect. We aren't funny, and the things I would write about are very personal. And I really don't want to cheat on him just to have stories to write about involving bad dates.
So, here I sit. Is there anything people would like me to write about? Because I am stumped. Or, I could stop altogether and you would have one less blog to read.
Help.

March 5, 2010 or Mating Season

2010-03-05T05:23:00.001-06:00

It's coming...
Spring! Can you believe it? March is here. Stupid February is out. Hallelujah.

With Spring comes what used to be my favorite time of the year as a single person - mating season. Yes, we like the rabbits, sheep and cows look to this time of year as a celebration of sex and the ones we share it with.
Mating season is a little different for me now. Now it means that my boyfriend will - in the next 3 months - be seeing me in a two-piece swimsuit and therefore I need to get my fatty act together. It means that we can walk to dogs in Forest Park for more than 15 minutes before Stella's feet freeze off. It means snuggling under a sheet with the windows open instead of hiding under eight down comforters because my heat is broken (not that I was complaining).
But I am getting to enjoy another part of mating season. Namely, watching other people go on dates. I feel like that 80 year old grandma who sits back and reunions and listens to the young whipper-snappers talk about their crazy lives, "Yes, yes. I TOO remember those days of boys who licked my face as a first kiss..."
I have the best boyfriend in the world. It's true, don't bother arguing the point.
But listening to my friends talk about their dates that "forget their wallets," or spanked their butts while leaving the restaurant on a first date, or have three emails waiting for them at home immediately following the date...well, it sends me back.
And one thing about this time gone by is that through all of these bad dates, I realized what I wanted so that when Bryan showed up - I knew he was perfect.
My vision for my second book (as soon as an editor wants my first book that is. Hint hint.) is called A Date by Friday. It is an experimental book about what would happen if all single people who were looking for love FORCED themselves to ask out a person every week or say yes to the people that asks you out. Either way, you had, HAD, to get a date by Friday. What would happen to the grocery stores, parking lots, gyms, bars, parks and work spaces of America? They would flourish, that's what. What would happen to the characters in the book?

Who's with me?! Try it. This week, starting tomorrow. Saturday. March 6. 2010. you are going to get a date by Friday. March 12. 2010. Not a husband or wife, not a lover, just a date. Make it a bet or game with your friends.

Report back.

Until Next Friday - oh, no. Wait. Not next Friday. Next week is the worst week of my year at work. Okay. Until Next Next Friday,

Pauline

February 26, 2010 or the engagement avalanche

2010-02-26T05:45:00.001-06:00

It was a pretty good run while it lasted.

For about 2 years, I attended a grand total of 3 weddings. There was this great chasm of the marrieds and the singles. No one was in a "relationship." You either had or had not.

Then about a year ago, a bunch of friends met men or women. When you are in your thirties, a year = a full decade, so these bunches of friends are collectively (thanks to several consecutive holidays) getting engaged.

In the past two months I have gotten 6 -SIX! - announcements of engagements. And as a year is a decade in relationship time, wedding planning is now shrinking to 6 months instead of the 15 month average of our twenties. These weddings are all this year between April and December.

This time it is different. I like these engaged couples of the 30's. They have couples showers that are more like happy hours with gifts and no lame ass games. They don't have 18 bridesmaids and they are having weddings at bars, parks and wineries instead of large reception halls with tables that seat 30. And the registries are a riot! Top of the line all the way. Why? Because at 30, we already have all the stuff we need for survival. If you don't own a blender by now...you don't need a blender. So the stuff on registries is TOP OF THE LINE.
"Yeah, I got a toaster, but now that I am getting married...I want a silver-plated, 25 digital setting, 6-slot bread holding toaster. Oh, and it's solar powered."
I love it. Why? Because after toughing out your 20's single and going to hundreds of showers and being bridesmaids for all your sorority friends, you deserve a $300 toaster. I ain't buying it for you, but someone, somewhere owes you that in bridal and baby showers alone - not to mention bachelorette parties you have thrown together.

I am excited for these couples and their weddings. For one reason, I love when Bryan is all dressed up for a party, he's almost edible, but more importantly - I get a new dress to wear. Maybe even new shoes. Oh, who am I kidding? I'd get new shoes without a good excuse.

Until Next Friday,

Pauline

February 19, 2010 comments answered

2010-02-19T05:57:00.000-06:00

Question #1:

What do you do if silly putty (see last blog) gets his stuff together right after you and turns out to live a perfect, happy life without you??? Take pride in the fact you got him there and wait for karma to kick in?

Thanks for the question Shay. Has one of your many many crazies gotten it together or are you hypothesizing?
Two fold answer here.
First of all I have returned to some exes that claim they have gotten their shit together and at first, it does seem as though they had. Quinn and Jake were both exes and at first both seemed to have crossed the border into manhood. For the first - ohhhh - 3 weeks. Then the little moments started occurring: forgotten phone calls, random girls calling in the middle of the night, little angry freak outs aimed at perfect strangers, etc. So I don't believe that a jackass changes its
spots too often. Maturity makes a difference, but at 30+, the deal is sealed.
Secondly- and this may come off harsh- maybe you can't heal the world. You might not have been what he needed. Why should a man (or woman) be good for only us? There might be a better -GASP- girlfriend out there. What's more, if this man miraculously turns out to be a keeper in the end, then you might have been part of the problem. The dreaded "enabler." Did you allow him to smoke pot before dinner with your parents? Did you pay for dinner when he accidentally forgot to pay his last car payment, resulting in a late fee that depleted his bank account for the next 2 weeks? Did you pay every month this happened?

Question #2:
My problem is that I am someone else's silly putty...the "one that got away" and he regrets f-ing up and losing. And now he won't go away and leave me alone. I have the new man, who more than erased the ex in my mind, but what the hell do you do when you are the silly putty in someone else's mind and you don't wanna be?! grrrrrr!

Animalgrl,

Take if from a girl who has notes put in a Ziploc and placed on her windshield in the middle of the night that there is nothing you can do. I tried talking to ex-boyfriends who wouldn't leave me alone and reasoning with them that I was never going to be with them. It doesn't help. You must go on a no communication initiative. That means none. Not even to tell them to leave you alone. Block phone numbers and emails, unfriend from Facebook, and never answer the door when they knock. Eventually they will go away. If not...taser them.

Until Next Friday,

Pauline

February 12, 2010 the Silly Putty Ex

2010-02-13T07:46:00.005-06:00

I have dated many men. Many, many men. I can't remember some of their names. Others, I would prefer to forget. Some of them are just decent memories in my mind of good guys who weren't 'right' guys. But then - there is the never-ending ex. This is that one guy (or gal for you gents who read this blog) that sticks to your mind like silly putty. Even when he's peeled off, there is still some stamp left.

The weird part about this fella is that he tends to be a total dick. Total dick. He's rude, he probably doesn't have a job, might have some baby mama drama, stood you up constantly and had commitment issues.

But he was charming. Oh fuck was he charming. So much so that after you end it with him, the worst thing in the world happens - he gets better. He's no longer standing you up, making you go to tractor pulls, critiquing your cooking, etc. Now he is just that hot guy who swept you a few months ago with great sex and that grows and grows in fantasy until you are screwed.

Last night one of my friends got a text from her friend who was working at Applebee's. "Todd's here," the text said. My friend freaked; I mean she (a 30 year old woman) started screeching at the sushi bar. Todd was her Silly Putty from 3 years ago. Apparently, Todd ain't got a job, fooled around and made Alicia drive all the time because his car was always "acting funny." On top of that, all they really ever did was have sex. But Todd was hot and charming and the idea of him eating chicken fingers at Applebee's on a Friday night sent her into a tizzy. I'm pretty postive that after we left the bar, she accidentally dropped into Applebee's. I will have to check on that.

Which reminded my other friend of her Silly Putty. Christa is going on a lunch date today with what seems to be a nice, but nerdy guy. But Silly Putty is still in the back of her mind, lurking. She knows Silly is a bad deal she's helpless.

You can't talk these exes out of your head. You cannot use the power of reason or time. There are only two cures.

1. You meet the right one. I know, I even hate myself for saying it because it is so cheesy, but Bryan made all my Silly Putty disappear. Instantly. That is why if you have a Silly Putty in your life, you have to start dating. The bad ones will make this ex look even better, so that is a risk you have to take. The good one will be a mind eraser.

2. You have to rehook up with him. Also super risky! This can only be attempted after a hiatus of 1+ years. Don't go into this after 3 months. But after a year or so, if he is willing, go back out with him and try it again. Chances are, you might actually see that he wasn't really so much charming as you were young, insecure, or horny. The sex might not be as good as you remember. But you can't hang it up right then. The trick to the rehook up is this - You must a) date him until he physically repulses you and b) you have to end it. Do not give him a chance to break it off or you will be at square one again.

(PS. No! There is no, "And who knows...he might have changed and is a really good guy now." Don't bank on it. Step out of that pipe dream. He's still a douche.)

Our dating world will become way more productive if we kick these exes to the figurative curve. Then maybe they will all hook up and make each other miserable while we move on.

Until Next Friday,

Pauline

January 22, 2010 or answer to a comment from last week.

2010-01-22T04:35:00.002-06:00

Yes, yes, yes. And you'd think a guy in a "wife led" marriage would like V-day. Not so! Oh the stress...LOL And it's a few days after our anniversary so I get gouged if I try to buy anything romantic (flowers, etc.)

First off - Wife led? I don't think that exist.
Oh, my friend. You were not reading. Tell your wife that Valentine's Day could be any day - you love her that much. Then, step up your game for the next few months and show her how amazing she is. You will never need flowers again.
You have brought up an interesting point - the anniversary.
What is this? A day that marks a joining of two people? A wedding? A first date? Whatever it is, it is a celebration of two people finding each other. Why do we corrupt it with flowers and chocolate? Does your wife REALLY, realllly like flowers? Or has she been brainwashed into thinking that flowers=love?
They don't. I love when Bryan brings Stella flowers. Yes. He brings my dog flowers. Not me. I think that is precious. But he could bring her pork rawhide chews. I wouldn't care. So, dear man, let's put our big boy thinking caps on.
What can you do that is not dictated by the morons at Hallmark or Hershey's?

a. send her to the spa for a mani/pedi. Schedule it for about 3-4 pm. While she's gone, cook her dinner. And do the shopping. (DO NOT DO THE CHORES! This reminds her of all the shit she does for you and the family.) Just food. And make it sexy. Lobster. New Potatoes. French bread. Zucchini. The more phallic, the better.

b. Take her somewhere. Anywhere. If she scrapbooks, take her to Michael's or Hobby Lobby. If he runs, find a fun trail. Jazz club, antique mall. And don't bitch about being there - and don't just stand there. Participate. Help her find something, request her song from the band, do something!

c. When all else fails: orgasms. orgasms. orgasms.

Add to this, readers.
I hope this gets the wheels turning, if slowly. Be creative, but don't do the usual!

Until Next Friday,

Pauline

January 15, 2010 Let's ban Valentine's Day

2010-01-15T07:59:00.001-06:00

Yeah, I'm startin' early on this one.
I hate this holiday more than any of the other 365.25 days of the year. I think that we should make the 14th of February the Leap Year day.
So I have one month to campaign to RID THE WORLD OF VALENTINE'S DAY - more commonly known as Singles Awareness Day. I hate this day for several reasons:

1. If you are single, this is a day where you are shunned. This is the no brainer. The only way this holiday is redeemed is if someone throws a hook up party and every single shows up, gets wasted and has sex with strangers. But that gets awkward in your 30's.

2. I look like hell in pink and red. My skin suddenly takes on the color of a jaundice victim. And when everyone at my work is covered in red wool sweaters and pink ties, the reflection off my face is frightening.

3. Chocolate and champagne. Both are like having sex with a hot cop. It sounded like a really good idea to do that all night, but in the morning...you will regret it.

4. The cards. Ohhhhh, the cards. I don't know who writes V-day cards, but they should be unemployed. a) the poems are terrible b) if you need someone to write it for you - you need to break up with her. All V-day cards (if the holiday stays in existence) should be blank on the inside. We don't send love letters anymore, at least think of your own shit to say once a year.

5. Eating out is a chore. Have you ever decided to 'eat out for v-day"? What a terrible idea! You better make reservations early, especially if it falls on a weekend. And then it is you and 40 other couples possible ingesting undercooked chicken because the cook in the back is single and pissed. You ended having mad belly all night and dosing off during snuggle time because you ate too make rolls and are in a carb-coma.

6. No one should tell you to stop and be in love with your lover. Not even a saint. It should happen every day. I know. I've only been in this for 2 months and balabhbaablh, but I swear, if I ever start taking for granted what Bryan does for me, smack me in the face. I shouldn't have a day a year when I am forced to remember to match my panties to my bra or for him to light a candle. V-day should look like any other day and still be romantic and loving.

7. Cupid. What a lame mascot. If I am having sex on Valentine's Day, the LAST symbol I want in my head...is the picture of a baby.

So let's ban together and ban Valentine's Day! Hallmark might try to assassinate me, but I think we can do it.

Or, pick a day other than the 14th to be glad you are single or happy you are in love.

Until Next Friday,
Pauline

January 8, 2010 or sorry

2010-01-08T05:36:00.000-06:00

Sorry 'bout that.

It’s happened.

I’ve become a couple person. God! I spend most of my time on the phone with Bryan, going out to dinner with Bryan, hanging out with Bryan, snuggling Bryan. I am not complaining. It is amazing. He’s amazing. Christmas holiday was the best I’ve ever had. New Year’s was a blast…both before and after midnight. And 2010 keeps getting better.

But, yeah, part of me kinda hates myself. True - I’m in my six month phase. I’m allowed. I also know that my phone won’t ring as much because people who want to go out will say, “Well, she’s probably hanging out with Bryan.” Which is true. I probably am. I’m a couple. But once upon a time, two months ago, I was singleton who loved and hated being single. I don’t want to be the annoying couple person. So, couple people, follow these resolution steps with me. And single friends, call me on it when I break these…which I probably will:

1. Quit your bitchin’. I have to be the person who calls my friends to say, “Hey! I want to go out!” I can’t pout that no one calls me anymore. I’m the one that has changed my schedule and habits. Not them. It’s my duty to keep in touch. People who find love, get married and have babies and then complain that the single people don’t call them fuckin’ piss me off. You have to be home to cook dinner by 7 or change diapers by 9. And that’s great. Good for you, but single people are 3 am people. They don’t have to play on your schedule! You come to them. And never complain to a single 30 year old that your baby or husband takes up your time. You might get slapped.

2. Don’t talk about him/her all the time. I have to watch not to talk about Bryan constantly. This is hard because he’s perfect, and I did do it for the first month. But I also need to remember that not everyone else is in love with him, just me. Well - some other people might be and I don’t blame them, but my friends don’t want to hear what bagel Bryan chose at breakfast and what gas he pumped into his car. Just me. And they might have stories to tell me. I love a good story, guys. Tell me them!

3. Don’t try to rid the world of singles. I have to try not to solve the “single problem.” I was the victim of this for many years. “I’m sooooo happy in my coupleness! Hurrrrray! You could be as happy as meeeeeeee!” This led to many set ups, one night stands, and tortuous blind dates that made me question my friends’ taste in men and what they thought of me. I will not set up a friend unless I have been asked by ‘said friend’ to set them up. I will not tell single people to get a mate because they need to join the couple cult in order to find true happiness. I loved being single. I love being with Bryan. You can be happy doing both.

4. Fly solo sometimes. Bryan and I go to church together, we are going to a birthday party together tomorrow, Happy Birthday Carolina! And we did do the entire Christmas holiday together. But your friends sometimes just want you. If your friend says she wants to grab dinner with you, she means you. Just you. If you are not sure, ask first. “Is this a girl’s/guys only thing?” Don’t ask “Is it okaaaay if Bryan cooomes?” That makes the single person feel like an asshole. “No! He’s not allowed!” That just sounds rude. And think about it before you go draggin' him everywhere. Remember, your boyfriend/wife/ etc. may not actually WANT to go with you everywhere either. He might have plans.

Good Luck.

Until Next Friday,
Pauline

December 11, 2009 Survival Kit 2009

2009-12-11T01:57:00.002-06:00

Yes. He's still perfect.

There is a winter dilemma that occurs in Saint Louis. I am sure it happens across America, but I only speak for my own city. When Jack Frost comes into town, one of two things happen. People go out or people go in.

In the summer, you can strap on your running shoes and hit Forest Park. In the time it takes you to run one mile, you have smiled at about 10 guys. Who are also running. With their dogs. The ones with dogs stop and talk if you have a dog. Stella's my best pickup line.
You can sit outside a coffee shop on a lovely evening and people watch with your girlfriends. If you make eye contact and smile, often a man will stop and chat, maybe even pull up a chair. There are outdoor concerts, road trips, backyard bbq's, float trips down the river, and of course, Cardinals baseball games. All prime male meeting opportunities.

But after the fertile months, there are two places to be: at home or at the bars. You sit by yourself with a cat reading a good book or you are stuck in a smoky bar remembering that you are not 25 any more and these jeans that used to fit are cutting your stomach in half when you sit down. And the hangovers don't help either.
Add to this the holiday family get togethers where you are chronically reminded that you are single and childless, the 15 lbs you gain because people are assholes and give singles candy and cookies and booze for the holidays, the girls nights or recipe exchanges where no boys are allowed, and that if your skin is like mine, it turns the color of a jaundice victim's, and you have a cocktail for a lonely, depressing winter.

We need to fix this. Not for me. I've fallen. But, no matter what happens with the fellow, I will always hope to be the voice of the single person. And so I present the Winter Survival Guide. I will try to come up with ways in which we can expand the freezing horizon and see what we can do about this epidemic.

1. Have single parties. I love girl nights. They are great. Have them on weeknights. On the weekends, gather all the single people you know, and the single people that those single people know, and so on. Aim for 40 people. Don't plan a "get wasted" party, but a real one. Get games (ooh, Twister...oh the possibilities)! Buy a karaoke machine! Fuck - get an empty glass bottle and spin it. Whatever, just get the single people out of the house. Do not invite the couples. I know. That's me now, but if the couples and marrieds are your REAL friends, they will understand that this is a part of the hunt, so they can rent a movie and stay in. You have a job to do. That way, there are no wedding plans/pictures, baby pics, or girl/guy groups huddled together watching the game or talking about Edward. The singles must interact and go home together.

2. Singles Snowball fight. Ok. The couples can come. But put them on a team, against the singles. Yes! That way, the single girl can "accidentally" "fall" on the single guy. And they can have that "accidental" "fall" moment like you see in the movies. "OOooh suddenly I have landed perfectly parallel on your body, and our faces are half an inch apart! Wheee!" They have to work together. To destroy the marrieds. We can get our frustrations out while meeting new people. The only problem with this is that we have to wait for a snow storm. Patience little ones...

I will think of more. Add what you will.

Until Next Friday,

Pauline

December 4, 2009 or Twilight

2009-12-04T05:32:00.000-06:00

Where do I start?
I called him on Tuesday to chat.
"Hey, what're you up to?"
"I am forty-four minutes into Twilight."
If this was taken out of context, it would for sure be a crazy card. But I will explain:
I had the pig flu, as most of you know, and as I was healing, my girlfriends were preparing to venture to the cinema to enjoy New Moon. Unfortunately, I was coughing so badly that I bowed out of going as to not annoy the Team Eds and Jakes.
So Bryan (of his own volition) said that since I wasn't able to go see New Moon with my girls that he would go with me so I could see it in the theaters. Mind you, I did not suggest this. Swear. He went to Family Video and check out the first Twilight so that he could know what the hell was going on.
I think he might be perfect. He likes me, my dog, my parents and Jesus.
And that is why... I am keeping him all to myself. This will be the only blog about him. It is not really fair to him that I just spill out our relationship. I did it before with the other guys, but I didn't give a flying fart about them. This one, I do. So, the blog is going on hiatus for a bit with my love life. Ironic since this is a blog about my love life. Don't worry, I will always have plenty to talk about, but just not Bryan.

Until Next Friday,

Pauline

November 19, 2009 or Oink Oink.

2009-11-19T17:58:00.003-06:00

Pardon this blog. I’m drinking whiskey.

I have the swine flu. Whee. It is actually a mild case. Basically I have the flu with a nasty little name attached. But the problem is that I not only have H1N1, but I also have one of my two busiest weeks of the year at work. One of my biggest events of the year is happening right now, and I am stuck on my couch - sweating.
Oh, and the date. Yes. I have swine flu, a huge event happening and a date on Sunday...and Friday.

Stella and I have a date. I think God is truly crackin’ up on this one. Let’s bullet the events of this week.

Last Thursday: Find out from Spencer that we are running a 5k on Thanksgiving Day. I run at the gym. For some reason, I am really tired after 2 miles of running. Oh well. I have 2 weeks.

Last Friday: Meet a great guy, Bryan. Bryan’s stats: He’s a college professor of science, he owns a home and a cabin, he is SMOKIN’ HOT (good looking and gray-haired….grrr), he’s the daddy to Travis…a golden retriever, and he is into me like I’m into high heels.

Last weekend: Work at work all weekend.

Monday: Talk to Bryan for 2 hours on the phone. He asks me out on a date. A doggie walking date with Travis and Stella on Sunday.

Tuesday: I run 3.4 miles on the treadmill after work. I look like Grimace from McD’s by the end; berry purple. I feel like shit for some reason. I have a huge event at work this weekend. One of my two major events of the year. I run to Target get Nyquil and throat spray and call in for work that evening. I figure I will go to the doctor in the morning, grab some antibiotics and get back to planning.

Wednesday: The doctor informs me at 8 am that I have H1N1. Swine flu. I am not allowed back to work until Monday.

Wednesday night: Bryan tells me that if he can…he would like to come to my big event for work and “see me in action” on Friday night. FRIDAY! Fuckity fuck.

Wednesday night: I run to the store and buy 4 gallons of orange juice, a bottle of whiskey, ice cream, a humidifier and lots of hot tea bags in an effort to beat the shit out of the swine flu by Friday night.

Thursday: Watch a Golden Girls marathon all day while alternating Nyquil, OJ, Moose tracks ice cream, OJ and Jack Daniels. Fever is reduced to 99* F by noon. If is hold off, I am good to go for Friday and Sunday.

This is my life. This is why I am the way I am.

Tomorrow is going to be very interesting. I will let you know. Either way, it will be entertaining…

Until Next Friday,

Pauline

November 13, 2009 or The holiday single.

2009-11-13T06:22:00.004-06:00

As the holidays are coming up I would like to remind people of the plight of the single person during the holidays. I love the holidays and I love my family, but being single adds a level of stress to the time that can make some unmarried and childless people stressed. So, do you do these things to your single family members?

1. Travel: Is the single person’s house even considered for any visit where the entire family comes together? Or does the single person automatically hop into their car anytime there is an event: Easter, Christmas, Thanksgiving, Halloween, and New Years? Let’s try it this way – if singles could charge mileage for holidays…how much would you owe them? How much would they owe you?

2. Sleeping Arrangements: Is the couch the automatic destination for the single? Or the bunk bed with the kid? I know I know. You are saying – “Well two people can get a bed and only one a couch…” Has your husband ever considered sleeping on the couch so that you can share the bed with the single, so they don’t have to have migraines and colds all weekend because they slept on a 20 year old couch with a throw pillow and afghan? I have a friend whose parents decided to take the whole fam on vacation, fully paid. Her sister and her husband and family got a full suite to themselves. She…she has to stay with her parents in a one room. They said they didn’t want to waste money giving her whole hotel room to herself. Explain this to me if you can….

3. Gifts: Singles get screwed. Which is weird, since we usually make the least amount of money. I love giving gifts to my family, and I am no longer broke, but for some people this is hard. How many of you get gifts from a single for you, your spouse, and all of your kids? How many of you give one gift to the single? We always get this. It sounds silly, but $40 for each person in your family adds up. Then we get a candle. And don’t forget…all the showers we went to for you. Please, be generous to your single. They have been giving to you. Think about it. (Not you Grace and Audrey…I don’t care. Really.)

4. Babysitting. People. I love my nephew with all of my heart. We are kindred spirits. And I would do anything for him. But sometimes we singles like to have adult conversations over the holidays instead of playing blocks in the kids’ rooms. Maybe even some tequila shots...mmmmmm

Singles...add away.

Until Next Friday,

Pauline

November 6, 2009 or Matt.

2009-11-06T01:11:00.001-06:00

First of all, I would like to write as a reminder to some of my lovely readers that this is a blog for entertainment. If you would like to give smug advice about how you are perfect and the characters in this blog are not and are trampy because we are single and you are in a long term relationship - go get your own blog. I'm sure it will be really popular.

Having said that...hold on to your hats because I have a story.

I had been emailing this cop, Matt since August, but he was working nights and we kind of fell out of communication. I didn't lose any sleep over it, but was pleasantly surprised when he sent me an email that he was now working days and would still love to take me out sometime.
Thursday, I got home from a daunting day at work and barely said hello to Stella and Maggie when I remembered that I told Matt I would call him that night. Being that I was going out to The Hideaway at 9, and it was already 7, I thought at least I could call and set up something for next week. As with most of my conversations, this is best put to dialogue.

*Ring Ring*
M: Hello?
P: Hi! Is this Matt?
M: Um. yeah.
P: It's Pauline.
M: Oh, Hey. What are you doing right now?
P: Oh, heh, heh. Just got home from a long day at work, what abou-
M: Yeah, but what are you doing RIGHT NOW?
P: Sorry?
M: Are you free?
(Pauline's hair is attacking her face from the daunting day at work and her clothes are covered with coffee stains and pen marks for the same reason.)
P: No.
M: Come on. Let's meet right now.
P: (Imagining how long it can take to look human again.) I have plans at 9. Soooo, maybe we can plan for next week. Coffee or a drin-
M:Now. I will get you to your girl date by 9. Let's just meet up, grab a beer and get that first date over with.
P: (Panicking internally) Sure. Why not, right? Heh. Heh.
M: Alright, I will meet you at Malle's in...how far do you live from Malle's?
P: 3 minutes.
M: See you in 3 min. (Click)

So I ran through my house throwing my hair in a bun and a clean shirt on my body. Two swipes of mascara and I was out the door.
I got to Malle's at the exact same time as Matt. Matt popped out of his Pontiac with a cigarette dangling from his mouth. Aside from the cigarette, he was hot. Really hot. Sandy brown hair swished in a mess do, green eyes and a lean cop body. We chatted outside in the drizzle while Matt finished sucking on his stick and went inside. Malle's was pretty much empty except for two pretty hot dudes at the end of the bar. Matt ordered two beers and paid for it. Ok. That's a start.
We started chatting for a while as he began chain smoking and I started working on my beer. Well, he started chatting. I mainly listened and nodded my head as he regaled me with stories of kicking citizens' asses. "Yeah. I took this one punk down with my elbow and it looks legit, but I was totally chocking him out. Ha!"
Then he started talking about how he was in college.
Ready?
M: Yeah, I mean I used to skip my classes but I would come in for the tests and get better grades than everyone else. I'm just way smarter.
P: Where'd you go to college?
M: Truman State.
P: Oh, wow. So did I -
M: Hmm. I'm surprised we never fucked...
(Pauline gapes.)
P: !
M: I mean...look at you. Look at me...Come on! How'd this not happen?
P: !
M: But anyway. I could just never do what you do.
P: Oh, gosh. Thanks.
M: Yeah, I would just end up beating up the guys and sleeping with the girls.
P: Oh. Look at that! It's 8:45. I gotta run.
M:I'm not done with me beer.
P: Mine's empty. Take you time.

And I thought that would be it. I busted out of that bar without even a hug. As I was talking on the phone to Mellie about the date, my text message tone sounded.
"Hang on. I have a text." I looked at the message which was from Matt. All it said was, "sup?"
I ignored it. Another text came a few minutes later. "I might meet up with you."
I responded, "Oh, umm, it's kind of a girl's nite thing. Raincheck."
Another text from Matt, "aight."
After I talked to Mellie for a bit, I headed over to The Hideaway to listen to Oliver's sweet tunes. I was sitting at the bar when I received five more texts from Matt begging to meet up with me that night. Thank goodness he didn't know where The Hideaway is. I guess that's why they call it the Hideaway.

Until Next Friday,

Pauline

October 29, 2009 or Serious Trial and Error.

2009-10-29T12:43:00.002-05:00

Mellie was doing interracialmatch.com. Mellie met Randall. Randall had his life together, was a large black man, and was really into Mellie. He used terms like "baby girl" but all in all, was a gentleman.
Mellie was not feeling it. And since Randall seemed like such a good catch and because Mellie was not feeling it she decided she needed to try him on for size...Saturday night, Randall invited Mellie over for dinner -at his place.
The Ultimate Trial and Error. In order to see if there was ever going to be a possibility for chemistry, she slept with him. Twice. In one night. Not because she wanted to, but because she felt she had to.
It didn't help. She broke up with him. The next night, she went to her old hookup's house and had great sex all night. In his mama's basement. On a pool table.
When Mellie told me this story, several thoughts ran through my mind.
Is this what it has come to for us single thirty-somethings? Are we in such a rush to find the right person that we will fast forward parts of the relationship that will test chemistry immediately? What used to happen in six months now needs to happen in two dates.
But the risk of this is that chemistry is a dangerous little trick. You know who I have chemistry with? Losers. Mellie's the same. A lot of us are. In the rush to feel the rush, we fall for guys that have charisma, sexy eyes, smooth voices, minimum wage jobs, mama issues, commitment phobias, and more interest in their cars than their 401K's.
But hand me a sweet, responsible, intelligent God-fearing man, I will give him about fifteen minutes of my time before I shove him to the side in pursuit of shivers up my spine.
There have to HAVE TO be men out there that have their shit together and are still attractive to the opposite sex. Where are they?!?! I am losing my mind and several of my morals in this quest. Obama needs to skip health care and instead focus on a law that requires all quality, single men and women to be put in a line up where we can just look at each other. It would be a law so there would not the be the stigma of online dating or set ups. You have to do it or you get shot. Period. That would be lovely.
Now I must go and write my congresswoman.

Until Next Friday,

Pauline

PS. enjoy your halloweeen!

Oc tober 23, 2009 or the Big Norton

2009-10-23T00:33:00.000-05:00

Let the trumpets sound for the new addition to the blog:
THE BIG NORTON OF THE MONTH!

The Big Norton is a name my sister, Grace and my bro-in law, Spencer, came up with to replace douche. It's named after a buttery wine that we drank one weekend at a winery in Rocheport. No real reason, just liked the name Big Norton.
AND THE WINNER OF OCTOBER'S BIG NORTON AWARD is....
David.
This is David's story.
The story starts with a friend of mine. She wished to not be referred to by her real name or her pseudonym. So I will name her - Gladys.
Gladys recently ended a long relationship and has been propelled back into the dating world. She was relying mostly on sugar daddies to get her fix until a friend suggested she go out with David. David was a teacher, an artist and a hottie. Gladys was so excited she decided to do the unthinkable.
She decided to not have sex with him.
She and David met for coffee on their first date and had a great time. Gladys mentioned she was going to a thrift store in Alton, Illinois that Saturday to find a specific costume for her work and David jumped at the chance to go with her. Our little Gladys was thrilled that a man wanted to do quirky things with her. He was interesting and interested...the perfect combo.
When he invited her to Ohio for a cartoonists convention that next weekend, she thought about it for a bit. An overnight would involve a bed. But she decided that since she really liked him and she had never been to a cartoonists convention, she might as well head up there. She was paying for a hotel room for them since he was "just going to sleep on a friend's couch." That might pose a problem. Hotel sex rocks.
In the hotel the first night, they started making out. Gladys was resolved though and refused to sleep with him. He was okay with that. Welllll, kinda. "I respect that," was what he said. In man speak, that means, "I'm going to ask you again in 48 hours, but for now, I will just deal with the discomfort in my nether regions."
48 hours later, he pressed her again. She refused. This apparently spurred the following statement from David.
"I have HPV."
Right. Um. That might be helpful to know, but pretty irrelevant since there is no sex on the horizon.
Gladys, not being one to judge, continued to be interested in David despite this sudden new information. In fact, she was willing to have him over to watch a movie the following week. But before they snuggled on the couch, Gladys needed food. Food in the form of IHOP pancakes. David obliged. They went to IHOP and split an omelet and pancake meal.
The waitress brought the check over and Gladys thought nothing of it. Until the bill remained in the same spot fifteen minutes later. David wouldn't even look at it. The white elephant sat on the table for another half an hour until Gladys, full and uncomfortable from the pancakes, grabbed the bill. Then she waited and when he didn't respond, she put a five on the table for a tip. They walked up to the register together. Gladys paused, bill in hand for just a second. Perhaps he was waiting to get out a check card and pay now. Nope. David went and stood by the door staring at her.
Did I mention that Gladys has already paid for a hotel room for a weekend that he invited her on? I did? Oh good. What man cannot afford $15.00 worth of pancakes and coffee?
Gladys is, and rightfully so, pissed on the way back to her house. She's pissed as they watch the movie together. She's pissed as they are making out (don't judge her, you've done it.) She was pissed again when he asked if she had any condoms so they could have sex. She reminded him, yet again, that there was no way they were doing anything. (No pancakes...no booty. It's a universal rule.)
When he fell asleep at midnight, Gladys, still pissed, was wide awake. She woke David up and told him to go home. She needed to do laundry and wasn't tired. He left. She didn't hear from him for a week. Figuring he was put off by the late night kick-out, she moved on.
Then, on a Thursday night at about 2 am, David called her. This is how it goes:
D: Hey. What are you up to?
G: Sleeping.
D: Oh. Right. So, I just sent you an email, but after I sent it I thought I should call you.
G: Uh, ok.

G: So...here we are. What's up?
D: I forgot to tell you something.
G: Well, go ahead.
D: I don't have HPV.
G:Oh good.
D: I have herpes.
G: That's quite an announcement.

And then, like all us good girl/crazy magnets, Gladys proceeded to talk to David and try to make him feel better about himself. They got off the phone and she went to sleep. The next day, she reads the email from him that also informs her of his herpes and replies, "I don't think we should see each other anymore. I just don't think this is for me."
He has asked her out everyday since.
So thank you David for your overinflated ego, unprotected sex drive and cheap tightwad of an ass. You are October's Big Norton.
If you would like to nominate November's BN, just buy me some pancakes and tell me the story over coffee!

Until Next Friday,

Pauline

October 16, 2009 or Ask Pauline

2009-10-16T06:58:00.000-05:00

Dear Pauline,

I have 2 weeks to get my costume. I loved your take on costumes last year. Any suggestions for how to not be too skanky, but still be sexy for Halloween? Any way to make it "topical" (i.e., something with the "now" factor?) Also, what if you have a kick-ass costume, but no where to go?

First of all...there is always somewhere to go. Find a newspaper or go online and find a charity ball, a bar that is hosting a party, a pub crawl about town or a haunted hayride. You have to work at it, but a kick ass costume must be shown off.

I am doing a pub crawl on Halloween, so I find myself in this 'costume-less' predicament. I hate the premade slutty costumes. I think (back me up or not fellas) that they scream DESPERATE FAT CHICK! I think the best costume is the costume that makes people either look at you twice or come up and start a conversation about you outfit. So you attempt at looking "topical" is good. If you play it right, you can make a costume sexy without looking desperate.

Find a character in a recent movie. Here are my suggestions:
roller derby chick
a dancer from fame
cavewoman
bella swan (twilight)
the hot girl from Star Trek

I always like a dead prom queen or female character from a fairy tale or superhero. Every man has had a fantasy about Wonder Woman, so it is a sure bet.

If you want to look sexy, play up one single asset, not all 10 of them. For example, I have big boobs. I could go as a German beer wench. with a little top, but not too much thigh. Go do a little research or visit your local theatre department at your local university. They will usually lend great costume for a small donation.

Men: I haven't forgotten you. Go as a fireman. Trust me.

Until Next Friday!

Pauline

October 9, 2009 or Chi-town.

2009-10-09T00:28:00.000-05:00

I need to move to Chicago. A couple of us went up there this weekend and I swear, men look at you up there. And they shouldn't. I mean, I'm in rain boots, a parka, covered in mascara running down my face with hair like Medusa - and they still look and smile. It is weird. We would be walking down Michigan Avenue and I would see a good looking man and as I am looking at him noting in my head that he is, in fact, a good looking man, I would become aware that I was getting a look back. And a smile! The last time I was in Chicago with Gwen, we ended up drinking with a bunch of Mexican guys who worked valet. They were awesome. They had no fear of rejection. They just came up and started talking. And this weekend, looking bundled like a polar bear, the men still look. And in the eyes! The eyes!!! Brilliant. I am moving. Just as soooon as I can afford the rent.
Tonight I am heading to Columbia for the Mizzou vs Nebraska game.
Wanna bet I get a single look? Didn't think so. Because, although Chicago is a measly 5.5 hours away if you are going 80 on the highway, it is a different planet from Missouri.
Go Tigers.

On the Quinn front, all is quiet. When I lived/was engaged to Quinn, we couldn't go 4 days without an argument. So for emails to be soooooo, calm -it's unnatural.

Until Next Friday,

Pauline

October 2, 2009 or the elephant in the room.

2009-10-02T01:00:00.000-05:00

I'm sorry readers. I am not lazy. In fact, I wrote several blogs to post last Friday. Nothing, however, was working. I tried to talk about Mellie who just joined (well she says she doesn't remember joining, but no one believes her) interracialmatch.com. Yes, that is a real site. Go look.
I wrote a bit on how my friends are all going to see this psychic ( I know - don't call her a psychic) who hears and sees God's path for them. She even gives out names of future husbands which intrigued me because that would solve a lot of my problems. Unless his name was Jasper.
I wrote about how Jasper, speak of the devil, joined my gym after our second date and now I see him every time I go in. And we both act like he didn't flip his lid and put a love letter in an envelope IN a ziploc baggie about how God has wronged him - that is until God sent me to save him. We just say "hey." I am relieved.
But I can't write completely on any of these things because there is a nagging thought in the back o my mind.
And that thought is that Quinn found me on Facebook, emailed me and told me that he has a child. A son. And so my day goes on as normal only now I have a morning email from the man that had 7 years of my life to himself until the day he told me he could "take me or leave me." The man who gave me a ring, that I gave back. I email back. I email back the man that emotionally degraded me to a point that I have spent the past 3 years recovering and finding myself all over again. And now this man who knew me better than anyone else ever has and, I fear ever will, wants to be friends. Friends. And a son! He has a son! And he found Jesus, bought a home, got a real job and regrets all the things he ever did to me. To us.
I should be running away so fast I lose 10 lbs.
But I can't. Ugh! I am an idiot. I can't stop wanting to talk with him. It is the weirdest feeling I have ever had. I don't want to get back together with him.
No. Really. I don't.
I just enjoy talking with him. I enjoying seeing pictures of his son. I like telling him about my weekend and hearing how he just took his son apple picking. We used to go apple picking. That fact alone should make me want to throw up. But I don't. Quinn is fast becoming a friend of mine. And I am okay with that. And he is okay with that.
I have lost my mind.
This is why I can write a 65,000 word book on how to screw up you love life so royally that you might never get married! Because, people, I have a gift. This is talent. This is skill. This kind of relationship dysfunction does not happen overnight oh no. It must be earned, trained and honed like a samurai. I am the Mr.Miyagi of fucking up with me.
If you have any burning relationship questions, please ask. I love the Ask Pauline segment. And being that I can obviously - see above - give great advice, I welcome your questions.

Until Next Friday, unless I am institutionalized.

Pauline

September 18, 2009 or the fat roll.

2009-09-18T06:57:00.003-05:00

I had a date with Trevor on Monday night. I had stood Trevor up the week before. I had lied that I sprained my ankle and couldn't meet him for a drink. He sounded like an Eeyore, and I just couldn't handle that.
"How was your day?" I bubbled.
"Sucked."
"Oh. well, at least it is the weekend."
"Yeah, blah. Weekends suck."
"Where would you like to go?"
"Don't care."
"When would you like to meet up?"
"Don't care. You pick."
Geez.
But, after thinking about it, I realized that this might be decent blog fodder and your happiness, readers, far surpasses mine. I took one for the team, called Trevor and set up a Monday bar date at Mangia!. (The people at Mangia! might think I am hooker with all the different weirdos I go with there.)
I wore a cute little gray shirt. This shirt has an elastic band that cuts across the waist. It looks super cute walking, but not so much sitting. Who cares? We were going to sit at a table that would hide the band. It looked like a fat roll cutting me when I sat. Well, that is probably because it kinda was a fat roll, but I prefer to blame the shirt. But, I looked cute for the walk up meeting moment and that was all that mattered. Trevor said he would wait outside the Mangia! door. I walked up, and he was not there. A guy who looked exactly like Matt Damon was though. That always happens. I am on a date and I see someone I would rather go out with. I looked around the corner of the brick building and there was Trevor. With his back to me. I guess I was on a blind date scavenger hunt.
"Hey, Trevor!"
No answer.
"Trevor...you-hoo!?"
He turned around. He was good looking, I guess. But he looked like he had been put in hot water and dried in a hot dryer. He was proportionate, but shrunk completely. All of his facial features were pulled within a centimeter of his nose and his shoulders were as wide as my dogs. It was weird. But the weirder thing was that he scanned me up and down like the Terminator. I walked up and hugged him. He weakly hugged bag. I think it was all the strength he could muster.
We walked inside. The stopwatch in my head was already running.
Trevor didn't care where we sat (shocking) so I said, "Bar or table?!" He finally made a decision. Bar. And it wasn't until we hitched our short selves up on the stools that I realized it looked like my spare tire was sliding down the side of my pants.
And it began. He immediately started in on Obama's health care reform. Being that this is not a political blog, I will spare the details. Just know that we were on opposite sides. He was arguing with me - sparring. I think for such a negative Nancy this was his idea of flirting, but within 10 minutes my beer was drank and the bartender was looking cuter and cuter.
He kept talking about his job; he works in worker's comp. He thought it was fun to tell someone who was used to making $200,000 that they would have to live of $500 a week. His parents threw him a surprise party that Saturday. And he knew it, so he showed up 2 hours early to bust in on his mom making a cake. Ha. "That'll teach them." Then he left and when he came back for the party, he went through the back door instead so they couldn't jump us. Hahahahah.
Asshole.
Then, he did it. He stopped looking at my eyes. Instead, for the next hour, he talked to my fat roll. I kept tugging my shirt, attempting to reveal that is was indeed the shirt and not me. Ok. maybe a little me. But after a while, when he told me that he doesn't really have too many friends and doesn't like his other brothers, I stopped caring. I let it all hang out.
He paid the bill (never offer) and I said, "Well I my meter is running out. Thanks for the drinks and calamari."

Done. Bah.

Until Next Friday,

Pauline

September 10, 2009 or Heeerrrrre's Your Crazy Card!

2009-09-10T07:32:00.005-05:00

(Here's your early post, Shay!)

You know friends, one day you will pull up this blog and there will be a sign that reads, "Due to Pauline marrying a kind, sexy, hard working, and normal man, adatebyfriday is permanently offline."
Today is not that day.
After conferring with Gwen and Grace, I decided to put on my big boy pants and call Jasper to break it off. Not a big deal since we had only been on two dates. And we hadn't slept together. I was nervous since I had not 'technically' broken up with a man without ignoring him or leaving in a big fight since 1997. I am not good with the, "Listen, this just isn't working..."
But Jasper was a nice guy who was just a little too much for me. So, I owed it to him. I called him and he started in on how his day had been.
PF: (interrupting) Listen, Jasper, I don't think we should date anymore.
JW: (Laughing) What? Why?
PF: We are too different. We just are not meant to be in a relationship.
JW: (still laughing for some weird reason) I'm going to need more than that.
Ok....so I used the Jesus card. I told him that I was a church-going lady who needed a man with Jesus in his life. Jasper had said he hated church and was just spiritual. Whatever the hell that means.
JW: Yeah...that's not good enough. I need more.
PF: Oh, really? Um, because I just don't think we should date. I am not interested in getting serious.
JW: Well. I am.
PF: Hmm. Well, I'm not.
And this continued for several minutes. He wanted more. I just didn't have the heart to mention I found him unattractive, boring, bankrupt, an ex-con, lazy and far too into overcommitment.
So, I simply said, "Sorry, I just can't be with you," and hung up.
At 6:22 am the next morning I got the text message
hey, listen i haven't slept i think we should meet and try to work this out. i just don't understand but i think we have something here we need to fight for.
Eeep eeep.
I ignored this. I made my nice gesture; my dating karma was clean. He would just have to get over it.
Then, on Tuesday morning, I went out to my car at 7 am, and there was a Ziploc on my windshield. Inside the Ziploc was an envelope with PAULINE scratch on the front. Inside the envelope was a letter: a handwritten three page letter on school notebook paper.
Guess who?
In this letter, Jasper explained that he knew that I couldn't date him because of God, and he was mad a God for 14 years for doing all of these bad things to him (which he outlined in full detail in the letter.) BUT! Then he asked God for a sign to help him get his life on track. And...Viola! I showed up. He said that I am the perfect woman. I am everything he has ever wanted and I am the gift from God that will help him be the man he knows he can be. And so he is not going to give up easily, because he is falling for me. And he is going to fight for me. Because now that I know he loves God, everything should be fine.
Listen...Jasper, I used to be in the business of fixing men. But, shop's closed. Been closed for a while. And God was about 1/10th of the reason why I called this off.
Oh, and um, we went on 2 dates. Two. Technically, we were not even dating. We didn't even slept together...
So. I have a crazy romantic on my hands. Shocking.

Until Next Friday,

Pauline

September 4, 2009 or What the fuck is wrong with me?!

2009-09-04T04:41:00.001-05:00

(that is a rhetorical question, please….no comments.)

No. Wait. What’s wrong with THEM?! Men meet me, go out on a date or two with me, and then fall in love with me. And, no, I am not braggin’ or exaggeratin’. It really happens. (If it makes me sound less snarky, they only stay in love for a month or two and then become douches to me.) I should have known. Jasper was no different. I have hung out with Jasper for a total of 12 hours. I mean really. That is ½ a day total. But, to Jasper that is enough to plan our lives together. These are a few lines that were dropped on Sunday, our second date.

1. My aunt can’t wait to meet you at Thanksgiving. You are coming to Jefferson City with me, right?
2. You are the best thing that has happened to me in two years.
3. My friends want to know your intentions with me. (No, that’s not a joke. He waited for an answer.)
4. Hey, I don’t have to work winter hours anymore – now we can spend the weekday evenings together through April!
5. When my buddies come up to hang, we can all go out. I mean, since all of us are attached, you need to spend the weekend with the gang.
6. So does your landlord mind people moving in?

Ok. This is a sample of the over-commitment that was going on. But this is also going on at the same time:
1. I just declared bankruptcy. It’s not my fault.
2. So yeah, I live with my parents. But they are like roommates, so it’s cool.
3. I don’t eat vegetables.
4. Most week nights I just watch a couple of movies and some TV. I am glued to my recliner 5 days a week.
5. Ha. 3 miles? I can do about half a mile. That’s all I need. I don’t really “work out” per se.
6. I’ve been in jail, but not prison.

Fuckity-fuck fuck.

Until Next Friday,
Pauline

August 28, 2009 or The Book by its Cover

2009-08-28T07:43:00.002-05:00

August 28, 2009 or The Book by it's Cover

What am I always saying?! I love a good BCB, but they don't always, um..., behave nicely. I love a good blue collared boy, but I need one that can do more than just smoke weed on the weekends, bowl on Thursdays, and smack my ass on Saturday. I need a Bubba who likes opera. Or will at least go with me.
So I was not sure what to expect when Jasper called me on Saturday morning for a date on Sunday. There was a little part of me that wanted to run for the hills, preferring to relish in our one night at the Hideaway. But I am a curious girl and a little experimentin' might be fun.
So, when Jasper asked me where I wanted to go for lunch, I called out Mangia!. Mangia! is a mildly fancy pants place. It makes it own pasta and everything has goat cheese and fresh basil, so I figured this would be a great place to see if Jasper could pass my BCB test. Poor Jasper. He got lost getting there and when he showed up, you could tell he was not in his element. The boy had tried, I will give him that. He walked up wearing khaki shorts (not cargos, like...UPS style), a maroon polo shirt and - wait for it - gleaming white K Swiss sneakers. Seriously, they blinded me. But this was Jasper's version of prep, I suppose. I squashed any internal snarky comments that wanted to burst through my lips and reminded myself that he was a nice guy. A really nice guy. All that was happening in my panicky little head was what always happens in my panicky little head - I run from the good ones. So I tried to focus on the giant black dragon that crawled up the inside of his right leg and wrapped around a giant tribal symbol that laid on the outside and the eyebrow ring that had a barb on each end.
It worked. Kinda. The silly boy pulled my chair out for me as easily as he had opened my car door on Thursday. I shuddered. And I wanted to giggle as he looked at the menu and just finally told the waiter that he would have the same as me: goat cheese ravioli. With fresh basil.
Squash! Squash! Squash! Suddenly every crush I had had on a boy for the past year came at me, encircling my brain. Ethan, Gabe, Jake. Jake. He was so much like Jake, but with all the things that I had wished Jake was too. But this wasn't Jake. This was not a man I had known more than four days. Forced conversation. I tried all the small talks and giggles, cutting my ravioli in two before nibbling at it. I am pretty sure that if Jasper had permission he would have lifted his bowl and thrown all six of the ravioli in his mouth as once. But he nibbled along with me, polite as ever.
After the bill, a hug and a "see you later" I high-tailed it to my car - squashing. I called Gwen.
"You went out with Jasper - today?! How'd it go?"
"Hmmm."
"What?"
"He's nice."
"Oh, yeah. God, why do we do this to ourselves?"
"I don't know. I just don't know."
"Pauline, he is a good man. We (her and Jenna) have crushes on Jasper. Don't drop him just yet."
And I promised myself that I would not drop him because he was a good guy. After all, he was a good guy with a bulldog tattoo on his chest.
We talked on the phone a couple times. Me swallowing the scream in my throat. Nice is not bad. Nice is not bad. He's a bad boy. Yes. A really jerk. Only in for sex. An ass slapper.
Stupid Jasper.
"I haven't slept since Sunday you know." he said on the phone.
"What? Why?"
"You. I blame you."
"Moi?"
"I just think about you. It's getting rough. You are just amazing."
Ahhhhhhh! Mayday Mayday!
"Are you free Sunday?"
"Yes." NO! "Yes I am." No you are not!! Yes I am!
"I am taking you Frisbee golfing."
And my heart rate slowed down. An activity date. Ok. This I can do. No goat cheese.
"Deal."

Epilogue -
Last night was Thursday, so Gwen and I decided to visit Oliver and his piano.
"I am leaving at 10:30. 11 tops." I vowed.
"Yes. Right. Curfew. 11. Got it." Gwen texted back.
So we get there. No Jasper. Suddenly, I was sad. Wait. I wanted to see him.
I texted him that we were there. Here is the text conversation:
PF: Hello? It's Thursday! Now listening to Oliver.
JW: Just got done packing. (He's going out of town this weekend if you care - but hurrying back Sunday for our date.)
PF: Wah Wah. Call me tomorrow if you ain't coming here tonight.
JW:I'll see you in a bit if you would like to see me.
PF: Si, Senor.
JW: Cool. Be there soon.

And he was. Five minutes later. And for the next two and a half hours we talked about everything under the sun. I didn't need the skull tattoo on his left bicep to tell me that this guy was date-able. He touched my shoulder and I shuddered. A good shudder. A tingly shudder. He looked me in the eyes. And his eyes are beautiful, especially with the eyebrow ring, which I didn't need to focus on quite as much and we talked and laughed and sang together. So. Yes. Missed my curfew again. At midnight I tapped the top of the bar, said good night to the girls, and looked at Jasper. "Walk me out."
And yes, he kissed me. And I officially sold down river.

Until Next Friday,

Pauline

August 21, 2009 or the surprise.

2009-08-21T15:48:00.002-05:00

So I was walking Stella and pondering what I would write about for today’s blog. I had nothing.

But I forgot it was Thursday. And a Thursday means I will be at the Hideaway listening to the sweet, sweet melodies of Oliver, the piano man. I went with Jenna and Gwen after a bout at Tower Grove Pub.

It was a Thursday and I expected to go home early and my Bare mineral foundation is running out and expensive, so I did not try to look good by any stretch of the imagination. I threw on a blousy gray shirt, worn out jeans and some ballet flats. My hair was still dripping from my 10 min. shower as I unlocked my car.

So, of course, you know I met a guy.

I walked into the Hideaway just as Oliver crooned You are the Sunshine of my Life and I made eye contact with a BCB (Blue Collar Boy). He wasn’t just any BCB. He was a big boy with a bald head and long goatee. He had an eyebrow ring, two earrings, and five tattoos. Ooooh, somebody stop me.

This part goes as it always does. Music (Oliver smokes out Sitting On the Dock of the Bay) Chair Dancing. Lip syncing. Real Dancing. Googly Eyes. Smile. Conversation. Name.

Jasper.

Here’s the thing, this man looks rough. Biker rough. Tractor rough. Greased pig rough. Hideaway regular rough. But as we were talking about bass fishing someone yelled his name. He lightly touched my forearm and said, “Pauline, will you excuse me for a moment?” And waited for an answer before leaving the table. I looked at Gwen.

“Did you just hear that?”

“Mhmmm. Wow.”

He came back and apologized before starting right back into the conversation. We talked about 50 things in about an hour. He fixes water main breaks. Oh, be still heart. He lives in the city, has 0 kids and 0 ex-wives. He believes in Jesus and American Made cars. He eats what he kills and roots for the Chiefs and the Cardinals. He’s my modern day Romeo.

I had to call it an evening at midnight being that I had work at 7 am. I got up, said ciao to my girls and good night to the boys and Oliver. As I was leaving, Jasper said, “May I walk you out?”

Jaw. Dropped. Floor.

He walked me to my car and told me that if I would like, he would love to do something with me soon. I agreed. So I gave him my number and turned towards my car. He grabbed my car door. Now, I have had my car door opened before. Sometimes it is for show. Sometimes it is because their mama told them to always do it. But this? This was unlike any car door opening I have experienced. There was no intention or expectation. It was the most genuine gesture a man has ever done for me. I know. It seems silly. But I am not exaggerating. I was in shock. It was lovely.

So I felt bad when the car door didn’t pop open. I hadn’t unlocked it. “Well, that didn’t go so well,” he mumbled. I unlocked it, and he held it for me as I slipped into the driver’s seat. (Thank heavens I cleaned out that damned car.) He said good night and shut the door softly.

This burly man had just treated me better than any stranger ever has.

Sigh.

I will let you know…

Until Next Friday,

Pauline

August 14, 2009 or The Comments

2009-08-14T08:56:00.002-05:00

Well, for partial reading, please enjoy the comments from last week's blog. Oy.

To prooooove that I am not a bitter fat girl, I will give you my "What I Love About Men" Top 10 list:

1. The come to the rescue when you need them. And most of the time it is without asking.

2. They have started using bath products, but only if name on the poofie sponge is "BODY DETAILING TOOL!!!" Honey, you are using a loofah, but it's adorable.

3. They pay for sushi. I have never met a man who split a sushi bill.

4. They make funny faces when they are thinking hard and don't know I am looking at them.

5. When they power walk on treadmills, I could just eat them up. (This only applies to the 60+ crowd, though.)

6. They smell good. Sooooo good. Go smell Al at the Hideaway Bar on Arsenal in STL. He's like, 75, and smells like heaven + Gio. Swear.

7. Their cars are always clean on the inside. And they detail them before a date.

8. They looks hot pulling jeans on in the morning. Body types be damned, they alllll look good.

9. Those jeans have to come off eventually.

10. Snuggling in silence.

These are a few of my favorite things.

Until Next Friday,

Pauline

August 4, 2009 or the Wolf

2009-08-07T14:18:00.001-05:00

This is my story of a dick in sheep’s clothing.

I have been working out at the gym all summer. Every day. An hour a day. 500 calories a day. Do I do it because I am fat? No. (Well, okay, yeah, kinda). I do it because I thought I was going to get a date.

I was running on the treadmill one day. It was three mile trek and the entire time I noticed a guy just staring at me on the treadmill down the lane. Stare. Run. Stare. Run. I was wearing yoga pants so my zipper could not have been down; I checked. Nope, Drawstring. He was looking at me. Sweaty, panting me. I labeled it a fluke until the next day when the same red haired boy ran next to me and stared. And then the next day. And the next. I started checking him out right back. He was tall and a lil’ pudgy, but his face and forearms were manly. Sexy. This man was attractive, but sweet looking. He was a nice guy, and he was interested in me. Rare.

And one day he didn’t stare any more. He smiled. I looked at him, and he smiled at me. That carried on for a couple of days. Then about 4,500 calories later, he said hello. I almost fell over. I was on the elliptical as my legs could no longer work properly from all the running. He got off his treadmill, walked past me, looked up and mouthed, “Hi.” I mouthed hello and stood in shock. Saint Louis men don’t make efforts to communicate. They are shy and enigmatic. But this one vocally greeted me.

And continued to for a week more. I was perplexed. He would go out of his way to pass my machine of choice to say, “hey.” He was interested. It would just be a matter of time before he would ask me out.

One day he passed me and said his usual greeting. I almost kept walking but decided to be ballsy and turn around to face him. “I’m Pauline, by the way.”

“I’m Chad. It’s nice to finally talk to you.”

“Yeah, you too.”

“I will see you tomorrow, right?”

“Yes.” Hell yes.

And so we continued to say hello at the gym, but were never close enough on machines to warrant a good conversation. Not that I didn’t try. Tried like hell, I did. But inevitably right before Chad would show up, some random stranger would hop on the open treadmill, elliptical, bike, etc. So I would work out and smile, hoping for a shot the next day. Sometimes, I would see him staring at me in the large mirror adjacent to the cardio room. His eyes never left me. Sometimes, I would go out to my car and he would get in his car and he would look at me. He wanted to come over but didn’t. I had to get near him on a machine to get a date. I had to time it right.

Yesterday, 15,500 calories later, I got it right.

I was all alone on the elliptical when Chad popped onto the one next to me.

“Hey, Pauline.”

Oh, man he going to ask me out. That is the next step. Conversation.

“Hi, Chad.”

“So what brings you here at this time every day?”

You, I wanted to say.

“Work. This is a good time for me.”

“Me too. I’m glad this is a good time for both of us.”

We talked about sports, where we went to school, dogs, balahbahbalabhla. Annnny time now, we are going to plan a coffee date. 20 minutes passed in dialogue.

“Do you live around here?”

Oh yeah, this is going well.

“Yeah, I just moved to the city. You?”

“Uh, huh, I just bought a house here.”

“Nice.”

“Well, we I should say.”

Pause.

“My girlfriend and I. We bought the house together.”

My workout stopped. “I’m sorry?”

“Yeah, heh, heh. Living in sin, I know.”

No, asshole. I am not stopping my machine because you are breaking God’s law. I am stopping because for the past 31 days I have been working out, watching you slowly climb the flirt chain to approach me for a date. You have been shamelessly trying to talk to me and get to know me and now you are telling me that you are practically married?!? And I am standing here frozen wondering how your lady friend would feel knowing you have been playing eye footsies with a strange girl in a spaghetti strap tank with a sweaty torso and swishing ponytail. I bet she would punch you in the face just like I want to. That’s why I am frozen mid-step with my mouth open!

“No, hey. Whatever. Whew. Burned my calories. Have a good day.” I hopped of that thing so fast I almost tripped. The walk of shame to the Exit door was the longest in history.

And away we go.

Unbelievable.

July 31, 2009 or Ask Pauline or My Soapbox

2009-07-31T06:37:00.001-05:00

Anonymous said...
Dear Pauline,

What's your advice on underware re: attracting a man/keeping a man attracted? I've been of the comfort/matching persuasion (all of my underware is either solid black or solid tan). Then I get this Victoria Secrets coupon in the mail and all the stuff is pink/yellow/green/ spotted/striped. And not lingerie, *underware.* Does it have to be this complicated?

Confussedly,
Uniform Undies

Dear Uniform Undies,
Perhaps unknowingly, you have stumbled onto a soap box of mine. Prepare.
I too enjoy a free panty from Miss Victoria every once in a while. Unfortunately if you read the fine, fine print – all you get to choose from is black, white and nude anyway. So for that reason, you should be safe in your comfort zone. But it you want to expand – go pale pink. It is an option as well. And don’t choose the V-string. I wear a 4X in that, and those strings cut 3 inches into my hip on both side. I do love the hip hugger or boy short.
Oh, and start calling them panties – it’s a pretty way to feel naughty. I stopped wearing *underwear* when I stopped being a virgin.
Now we have worked that out.
Let’s move on. Does your panty/bra choice matter? Yes. Yes it does. Everyday. DON’T ROLL YOUR EYES AT ME, MARRIEDS!!! I haven’t had sex in months! MONTHS! I still match my underwear. Because if I have to be rescued from a fire or I lose my wallet and have to strip for gas money, I need to be prepared. But some of my friends in relationships/marriages feel they do not need to be sexy anymore. BAH! The opposite! You must work as hard, if not harder, on the little things. Including underwear. Don’t believe me? I have two words ladies:
Sweat. Pants.
Right!? The heather gray, banded ankle, package-showing sweatpants. I don’t care how much you love that man – if he pulls up on the couch in those things and a tee shirt with the sleeves removed, sex is not happening.
So how do you think that same man feels about your unshaven legs being hoisted up by Hanes Her Way, stained (you know what I mean), cotton UNDERWEAR with some string dangling from weird places? It’s mean. It says to the man “I don’t care about your sexual feelings because a long time ago, you pledged your undying love to me. So go fuck yourself, you have to love me nasty.” Wearing cute, sexy and still comfy underwear is something you can do no matter how late you work, how much the kids are making you crazy, how little money you make (Target is amazing if you don’t get a free panty) or how fat your feel. Get your girls together for a panty buying party and have fun. Then it’s done. No effort is needed in the morning to guarantee sex that night. You might even find you feel better about yourself even before the guy ever sees them!
Please ladies. Try it. Try it for one week. Report back. I hope you have wayyyy more sex than I am right now.

Until Next Friday,

Pauline

July 24, 2009 or the dangers of spinsterhood.

2009-07-24T02:28:00.000-05:00

Warning: being a Spinster might be hazardous to your health.

When you are 30 and single and it is a beautiful day there is only one way to spend the morning – at a lavender farm.

Lucia called me with an invite to a lavender farm Saturday. I took Stella out for her walk that morning and was energized by the cool air and warm sun. I was also energized by my upcoming night out with some old friends. So a trip to a lavender farm would be the perfect chill. Sure, we would be surrounded by old ladies in large straw hats and baskets, but that couldn’t stop us.

The drive out to the country with Lucia and Elena was pleasant and full of conversation. We knew we were at the farm immediately; the scent of lavender permeated the air blowing through the lowered car windows. The charming two acres swarmed with widows and geriatrics. We were the only ones of our kind. We joked that since we were never going to meet men we were willing to marry, we might as well get used to these kinds of Austen-esque outings.

I did notice that while trimming the individual stalks of lavender for what seemed like hours, my sneezes were becoming more frequent. Elena and I had decided to split a “bundle” for our houses and we returned to the little gift shop to purchase said bundle. The girls also loaded up on lavender face creams, lotions, oils and other sundries. I am cheap. This is not a shock. So I stuck with my $6.00 stalk of blooms. I did order some lavender tea to sip on outside as we chatted through the gorgeous afternoon.

We had so much fun, even joking about how if this is what singlehood was, then we were okay with it.

Little did I know that my body was about to remind me that being a spinster is not that easy or safe.

At about two in the afternoon, we gathered up our purchases and returned to the city.

On the car ride back, I realized I was sweating a bit and super thirsty. I had three bottles of water in my giant purse left over from the Cardinals game the previous evening (again, super cheap and yes, my purse IS that big), and by the time I got home, I had drunk two of them. I hung my new stalks at eye level near my bed to ensure a lavender induced tranquil sleep-filled night.

I finished five more water bottles that hour. Walking Stella, I sweat through my shirt (Seriously! South City is going to reject my residency), almost passed out twice and felt drunk. We walked for fifteen minutes, but I just could not take it. I canceled my evening plans, laid on the couch, sneezed a thousand times and drank two more bottles. Mind you – I still have not figured it out.

At 8:30, being that the night was a bust, I walked to my bed to sleep it off. And that was when the fun started.

I opened my Twilight book to page 100 and started reading. Shouldn’t take too long, I am exhausted. Wrong. I couldn’t sleep because a) I had to keep getting up to refill my fucking bottle of fucking water, b) my eyes had a hard time focusing on the words on the page because they were swelling shut and soaking my pillow with salty tears not brought on my Edward Cullen, and c) dammit, I can’t breathe through my nose.

Finally after about 300 pages, I looked over at the object of my poisoning and it hit me. Lavender was killing me. I am severely allergic to lavender and had been attacking myself. I had breathed it, walked through it, cut it, drank it, rubbed it on my wrists and neck, hung it near my bed - all but made love to it! And now my body was rejecting it at 3 am.

I threw the lavender out of the room and went to the bathroom to wash out my puffy eyes. My face had swollen a little. Good news was that my wrinkles were gone, but I did look like Sloth from The Goonies.

I didn’t sleep, but I did finish the book. Good book.

So, I have to find other Spinster activities that will not attack me. Maybe join a good book club.

Until Next Friday,

Pauline

July 17, 2009 or my debut

2009-07-17T06:00:00.000-05:00

And....I haven't heard from Scott since last Friday. What the hell? Over it -

Here's my funny story. God I wish I wasn't so awkward.

I went to work out at my new gym in my new workout outfit of a skimpy top and zip up capri pants.

As stated in a previous post, the men of South St. Louis are starers. They are the first brave men I know that will look a stranger straight in the eye and say hello.

So when I got on my treadmill and started running, I was only half surprised when the guy next to me would pop a looksie at me every-so-often. I finished running and went to grab a drink from the water fountain. I could feel eyes on me. Good looking ones at that. I smiled at them and I strutted to my car, through the grocery store, and along the sidewalk with Stella. I'm on fire! I thought to myself. Maybe it was my new foundation or my 3 lb weight loss, but I was popular.

After a long day of being the object of sooo many's admiration and longing, I flopped on the couch to watch The Young and the Restless (I really need to get cable). That was when I looked down.

My zipper had busted. And it wasn't down. It was split in half. My pants looked like Munch's The Scream - sideways. To top it off, I hadn't done laundry in a while so what was buried underneath my broken pants was not, um, well, ideeeal.

I have flashed 90% of South City in ugly panties and done it struttin'.

I will die a spinster.

Until Next Friday,

Pauline

??? or Monday July 13, 2009

2009-07-13T08:25:00.002-05:00

Got a text Friday afternoon:
How was your week? I've been too busy! With all the all-star stuff all weekend there is no end in sight. I just hope it doesn't rain.

What is that?! All week I have been thinking that I did something to disgust this man. Then I get a casual drop via texting? Bah!

But, he's still interested, and he pays for dinner so full speed ahead!

Until this Friday,

Pauline

July 10, 2009 or nevermind....

2009-07-09T05:44:00.000-05:00

I met a guy. A good guy. An accountant. Not only was he an accountant, he was a successful, smart, funny, good looking, home owning, dog loving accountant. And so after our date where he said he couldn't wait to hang out again, I thought, "This is all too good to be true." I mean, I'm just not used to white collar guys. They don't tend to "go" for me. Throw me in front of a construction zone or a plumber convention or a prison and its a fox hunt. Throw me in front of a lawyer conference - fugitaboutit. They just don't go for me. I think it's because I have the body of an aging belly dancer.

So, when Scott came on the scene and seemed interested I was surprised and cautious. He asked me out for Sunday night: dinner and drinks. We stayed at the pub for four hours talking and laughing. A hug at the end, no kiss, was mixed with "great time" and "do this again." Now, I know that doesn't mean much, but I was putting a little faith in words.

Haven't heard from him. Not to be a Debbie Dating Downer, but good guys just don't go for me. Thus I am torn. Do I continue on this New, post-Jake pursuit of men without prior convictions even though it has thus far taken my pride and bitch slapped it? Of do I wave my white flag and go to a meet and greet at a strip club?

July 3, 2008 or My Favorite Holiday

2009-07-03T06:02:00.001-05:00

This is my favorite holiday. I don't even care how fun it is (hanging by the family pool shooting fireworks), how boring (when it rains), or how dysfunctional (spending it with Quinn's family). Because of one guy. I will always love this holiday.
This is my Chapter about the 4th of July and Mick from my book. Enjoy.

STEP FOUR: FIND THE LOVE OF YOUR LIFE VERY EARLY.
Tasting love young solidifies singlehood in several ways. First of all, it breaks your heart early on, thereby starting to build a giant callous that encircles it, protecting said heart from others who will attempt to hurt it later in life. Even before puberty, your bitter heart will be saying such things as, “Yeah, you say you love me now, but what happens when I go through the change huh, buddy!?” or “I know your kind, live hard, love fast. Keep walking, dude, keeeeep walking.” By no means will you stop having men in your life, but love will be hard to come by, replaced by shallow affection and complacency.
Secondly, it will also set a pretense on what love should be (unrealistically). Memories of a love during a time you remember only in fuzzy images framed by fog are perfect. And no grown human man who functions in reality will ever match the fantasy that your childhood love granted you. Memories are dangerous like that.
And finally, if you love him for the right length of time, it will take most of your youth to get over him.
When I fell for real, I was eight. And to this day, I don’t care what people say, this is the one guy I have truly loved.
Now ladies, this story does not end well, so get Kleenex, you will need them. Hang on; I need to get my box.

Okay, let’s do this.
My parents were friends with other teachers, as happens all the time. These friends all had kids our age. There were the White’s, who had a son, Jimmy, who was Audrey’s age, but who was born with severe cerebral palsy and therefore lived in assisted living. They also had a daughter, Kelly, who was born twenty five days before me and Grace. Kelly was our childhood best friend. We grew up a lot together. In fact, many of my worst experiences with men happened in the presence of Kelly. She was like me, impulsive, over-sexed and cute. She was also rebellious and spoiled. This a good combination does not make.
Another couple, the Otte’s, lived in Pacific and had two sons. One was our age, Nick, and yes, of course, I dated him. The other was three years older, Hank. Grace was in love with Hank for most of our childhood, although he never knew it. They were both very cute, but shy and quiet. Usually at parties, Nick acted bored or tried to make fun of the other kids. Hank was nicer and rolled with the punches when he showed up.
There were the Smith’s who had two sweet, blonde, smart, beautiful daughters who my sisters and I hated. Enough said.
And then there were the Alton's. David and Kathy had three children. Kent was the godfather of our gang. He was the oldest, which is why I always pictured him as a 30 year old even when he was ten. As with most patriarchs, he had a sharp tongue and a soft heart. Laurie, in contrast, was the youngest. She played her role as the sweet, unassuming one.
Then there was Mick. Mick was about 6 foot tall by the fifth grade. He had chocolate brown hair and eyes that twinkled when he smiled. (That is not even figurative language. That is a statement of fact.) He was born with a little light bulb or something, because you could see them sparkle. He was cut with the body of a baseball player. His skin was golden brown and smattered with dark freckles that lent a bit of innocence to his devilish charm. And charming. Oh God, was he charming. And I loved him from the word go.
The word go was a New Years Eve in 1984 at the Alton’s house. It was the beginning of a long dynasty. From the year on, every New Years and 4th of July our families would get together. The Alton's would usually take New Years. The adults would all sit in the mirrored sunken living room and do something. None of us youngins really ever cared what they did. Until I just wrote that sentence, I have honestly never cared what they ever did. Huh. Wonder what they did? I will ask Mom.
I know what we did that night. At first we all just sat around looking at each other. We were thrown into a gang because our parents wanted to hang out for the holidays. That lasted about five minutes. Like all kids, we had a common thread of having fun. And fun we had. It started as truly kids playing together innocently (of course we always had MORE fun when the Smith girls were not there.) We would play cops and robbers, hide and go seek, and other stupid games to pass the time. Then at five minutes to midnight, we would all go freeze our asses off outside, standing with a spatula in one hand and a pot in the other. 10..9..8..7..6..5..4..3..2..1. HAPPY NEW YEAR! Kids would scream and bang the hell out of our pots while our parents pecked each other on the lips. Then moms and dads would kiss their kids. We would eat whatever food was left, and go home.
Six months would pass before the Fourth of July would come. My family got that holiday. We lived where no neighbors cared about loud fireworks. And we had a pool. It was an easy decision... It was about my favorite day of the year. The parents would again spend the day doing insignificant things as far as we were concerned. The kids would haul ass to the bathroom and change into their suits, and then we would attack the pool for six hours straight. We had our innocent pool games…Marco Polo was a favorite. We also were big fans of “crazy diving board jumping.” My specialty was a back flip off the edge. Kent and Grace were cannon ballers. Audrey rocked the raft jumping. And Mick would do the solider walk, like “oops, here I am marching and the board ends, and I did not know it ended, so I just marched off the edge.” Adorable.
My dad would barbecue pork butts and Mrs. Otte would bring brownies. Kids ate around the coffee table and the couch talking and gorging ourselves on picnic food. Then we would run outside with bloated bellies to the pool until the mosquitoes were too much to handle. Once it got dark, my dad would put on a firework show…which always started with my dad running like a girl away from an entire pack of fireworks and ended with sparklers that we could spell out our names with. We would eat whatever food was left, and people would go home.
Then I was eight. Now remember, by this point in my life, I have honed my skills as a child tramp. And then suddenly, I looked at Mick in a whole new way. No longer was he just cute, he was a god. It happened on a freezing cold New Years Eve night in 1986. We were playing war. The upstair’s hall was the battlefield. Both sides had a bedroom as their trench; the closets were the hospitals. I, now fully aware of my femininity, was not going to be an ugly soldier. I wanted to be the sweet but beautiful nurse. My army consisted of Grace, Kelly, Hank and of course, Mick. I would wait for the call of help and run - well I like to think I glided - to help the wounded boys fighting the gritty fight. I would help them limp to the closet and wrap their wounds, only to send them back out into the senseless battle that I prayed would end in peace. Mick got injured about fifty times in two hours. Hmmmm. Convenient.
See, Mick was falling for me too. Not in love with me, for that would mean this book would never have happened because I would have been a child bride. But he liked me. In battle, he was wounded, badly. Head injury, if I remember correctly. I held him tightly and we limped to the closet in his parents’ bedroom. He was in a bad way. I did not know if he was going to make it. As if clinging to each other for hope, Mick grabbed me and kissed me hard. Over and over again. It will always be the best memory of my life. I was in the arms of the greatest man in the world. That night as everyone counted down and we banged our pots, everything seemed normal. But for Mick and me, things were different. We looked at each other and knew what had happened. We had had a moment of passion; we had a secret.
Six months could not have come faster. I begged my mom for a bikini, to no avail. Now, all of the sudden, sex could be seen in everything that was once so pure. Marco Polo…I KNOW Mick opened his eyes just to ‘accidentally’ grab my ass underwater. We started playing “chicken” a lot, that game when you sit on a partner’s shoulders and push another pair until one player topples over into the water. I always got Mick (under penalty of death to the other girls.) I would wait for him to duck under the water and then I would slowly slink my thighs over his shoulders and he would push up for air. That’s sex, right?! He would hold my thighs close to his neck as I half-ass tried to beat the opponent by knocking them over. Fuck that, I just wanted to be as close to Mick as possible, the game was secondary. If I got pushed over, Mick and I would spend about six glorious seconds underwater together fumbling and reaching for each other until we surfaced. If we won, he would throw me off of his shoulders in a thunderous push and then pull me close to him for a bear hug. I won either way.
On the diving board, all my back flips off the end of the board were focused on showing my now budding breasts and freakishly long legs. Fireworks were a time when all was dark with moments of neon burst that would highlight the burst in Mick’s eyes. When I would laugh at my silly Dad running for his life, I, as if by instinct, started throwing my head backwards and laughing towards the heavens. I noticed this always got Mick to look at me and smile. As the guests were saying their good-byes, we were making out behind the giant evergreen tree.
Six more months. We never saw each other except for these two days and some random get-togethers. We went to different schools and obviously had no cars. They were long months, these times in-between. And years would go by. Mick was becoming a man of unspeakable hotness. I wasn’t doing too bad myself.
I was going to have sex with Mick Alton if it killed me. It just needed to be the right moment, that was all.
God, however, had other plans. One weekend, during the summer before seventh grade, my greatest fantasy almost came true. The Whites had just bought a summer lake house in the Ozarks and invited us and the Altons to come down for vacation. Mick and I had not kissed in a while, actually we had not talked in months, but I did not care. With a few board games under my belt and a little evening spin on the boat, I had recaptured Mick’s heart quickly. We would lightly bump into each other while passing on the stairs. During dinner, I would catch him staring at me. When I looked at him, he did not look away. Eyes locked and twinkling, we would just smile at each other…sinister little smirks. My mom had given in and let me get a bikini, it was yellow with little blue polka dots all over it. Mick would come up behind me and sing “She wore an itsy bitsy teenie weenie…” Oh, good, he noticed… Thankfully my body was smoking hot all of the sudden. I was a curvy little thing overnight. Hmm, oh well, no big deal. Mick would brush his hand over my shoulders or thigh on the deck and I would get goose bumps you could see from space. When he spoke to me, there was a growl in his voice; a subtle hint that he wanted me. “Pauline, would you grab my towel?” Translation: Pauline, would you take me to Heaven’s gate with your body?
Done and done. I just had to wait for the right moment...
This lake house had several little nooks and crannies, not unlike daycare. I was sleeping by myself on the pull-out couch in the living room. An open room, fully accessible at midnight. I don’t think I slept that weekend at all. When everyone else went to sleep, he would linger behind and, again, just stare with those eyes. Fifteen years later, I still get tingles thinking about those eyes. Quietly, he murmured, “Goodnight cutie,” and softly disappeared into the basement.
I waited all night for him to come to my bed. I envisioned him slowly walking towards me, lit only by moonlight. He would crawl to me from the bottom of the pullout, until he reached my lips with his. Everything would have to be silent, but those stolen moments would speak volumes. He would slip off my tank top. I would pull off his tee-shirt. Together we would take off our underwear until we were naked; breathing our ‘I love you’s in whispers. We would make love until the sun rose over the water. Then he would slip away until the next evening. Yes, this was it. All I had to do was wait for him.
Every noise was exaggerated in that house. I thought I heard the stairs creaking with Mick’s footsteps every second. I would strategically pose myself in sexy ways in case he came; eyes closed and the thin sheet draped to reveal the top of my thigh. Yes, I was ready. This was going to the best night of my life.
He never came. Aren’t you dying? I am. Why wouldn’t he come? What did I do wrong? I was spot on. It was our destiny. I was supposed to lose my virginity this weekend. Damn him.
The next day I was mad and hurt and cranky as hell. Everyone went out to swim. I waited in my effort to not look too desperate for Mick’s attention, and I had to use the bathroom in the worst way. My intestines were a mess and all cramped up. Everyone was in the water when I grabbed my suit and went to the bathroom to change and potty. Then it happened. Classic story. As I removed my underwear, there it was. The spot of doom. It all made sense. My curves, my bitchiness, my cramps…my first period. No big deal…I read YM and Seventeen. I knew how to solve this problem - a tampon. I searched everywhere. No tampons. Only giant pads made out of twin sized mattresses. This was not happening! I searched for maybe 30 minutes before Kelly came up to check.
“Please tell me you have a tampon.”
“No, Mom won’t let me use them, and she doesn’t have her period anymore.”
Fuck. So I pressed the mattress to my underwear, put on my bikini top and a pair of cut off shorts and went down to the deck.
“Hey, where have you been?” asked Mick.
“Upstairs, just reading my magazine.”
“Hmm, well get in.”
“No.”
As if sensing that he had upset me by not coming up last night, “Come in! I want to play with you.” (Twinkle, twinkle… asshole.)
“No, I don’t want to swim today.” (Or for another 5-7 days for that matter.)
“Pauline. Please come swim with me.”
“Noooooo!” I howled.
“Uh, okay, whatever,” he muttered as he swam away into the murky waters.
No sex. No nothing. After that weekend, the next few years went downhill. During a New Year’s Eve party of 1991 we were playing spin the bottle with a hairspray can. I don’t know why we decided this would be the new way to pass the time. Every time I went in with Hank or Kent we would just sit there and talk about movies we had watched that year. Sometimes after several rounds in the room together, we would just sit in uncomfortable silence until someone came and rescued us. We had all been friends for almost ten years and had already kissed the people we wanted to in the group.
Or so I thought! Secretly, Audrey had felt it was her god-given right to have Mick to herself since they were the same age. I learned of her secret that night. Nick and Laurie came back from the room, being that they were both super shy and quiet, nothing happened but awkwardness. Nick spun the can to pick the next couple. The can spun and landed on Mick. He gave it a spin to pick a girl to go into the room with him. My heart soared and I started making deals with God.
“God, listen, sorry about the underwear incident a while back… but I am really going to need that hairspray can to land on me. I need to tell Mick that I love him, if you have it land on me then I promise to never, um, to never…um – oh shit I can’t think! No, don’t say shit! Shit, I said it again!” And the can landed on Audrey. Why couldn’t I think of something to give up!? Candy, MTV, impure thoughts, something! And I just cursed in a prayer! This is a disaster.
With a beaming smile, Audrey hopped up, and they went into the bedroom for three whole minutes. Everyone has those longest minutes of their lives. These three would be mine. It was dead quiet in that den of sin and everyone sitting outside with me was joking about how they were probably using tongue. Everyone but Grace, who just sat there watching me suffer in silence. Tears filled my eyes and I tilted my head to the ceiling to hide them. Stupid heart. Why do you have to hurt so bad right now? Why can’t you just be cool and not care that the greatest man in the world is right now French kissing your stupid sister. Stupid heart.
181.5 seconds later, they emerged, red cheeked and sweaty. My entire body trembled with anger. And then she smiled at me. Oh, no. It is officially on. I could not wait for my turn, I was going to destroy that boy on that bed. Clothes were going to come off, lips were going to get chapped, and maybe a hickey or two was going land on a neck. Three minutes would be plenty of time for me to make Audrey jealous. Mick liked me anyway, she was just convenient. Come on spray can, work your magic, I need this…
Nothing. Again, fate had eluded my wishes. Neither of us was picked all night. Bang the damn pots, eat your shitty food, and go the fuck home.
It was dating karma payback for going out with Luke Rollins, I just know it. I am a big believer and victim of dating karma. If you mess with something in the realm of love it will always come back against you. I had stolen my sister’s crush, and my sister had stolen mine. I did not recognize dating karma, so I was to make many more mistakes in the future that I would pay for with heartbreak. But this was my first taste of revenge…
Then things got complicated. My mom and dad taught in the Rockwood School District, where Mick went. It was a much larger and wealthier district, and they decided Grace and I needed to be there. Grace and I transferred from Pacific to Rockwood in the seventh grade. My Dad taught at our new junior high, and Mom taught at Mick’s junior high. His school was suddenly my rival. He was a football player and I was a cheerleader. I would see him at games and feel as if my heart would blow right throw my polyester jumper. I would try to find an excuse to be on the other team’s side of the track. “Um...I am going to go over to the other side to, um, go, um mmmnpsmnshhs.” Then I would walk up to him and say something asinine like, “Hi, I like your school colors.” Bah! He never seemed to mind. I think it either flattered him or amused him. Mick and I did make out one more time at a Fourth of July party in 1994; it was hot, hot as hell and interrupted by Laurie.
After moving to high school, Mick got a girlfriend, joined the Elite Baseball League and came to the holiday parties sporadically. I never knew when he would be there, so I always went, and decked myself out in makeup and mousse in hopes he would decide he loved me, and would be at the party. When he wasn’t, I would mope the entire night, listening for the front door to open. The phone to ring. Anything. Just like when I waited for his feet on the steps of the lake house. Once, when I was a sophomore and Mick a senior, he came in the middle of a New Year’s party. I think he was drunk. He walked past me, glanced at me, smiled and said nothing. He knew.
I realized at that moment he knew how ten years of parties and random meetings had led me to be desperately in love with him. And he walked away. My heart broke that night. I tried to date other guys in high school. No one ever made my skin tickle like Mick. I wasted 10 years of my life pinning for a man who never loved me. He had grown up and realized that a childhood love was just that. I had, on the other hand, built up a love that would rival Tracy and Hepburn. I was a fool and I knew it. And he knew it.
Mick went to Southwest Missouri State University on a baseball scholarship and disappeared for most of the time. If I would see him, it was quick and I would turn away, knowing I was helpless. I graduated high school and also went to SMSU. I won’t lie and say that decision had nothing to do with Mick going there, but I swear I was not stalking him.
One night all my roommates were out of town visiting family or boyfriends. I was asleep after a night of watching An Affair to Remember and eating Twinkies for dinner. My phone rang. It was him.
“Hey, my friends and I were at a party and they left me. I have no car and I am wasted. Can I come up and crash with you?”
“Sure.”
Oh God, Oh God. This was it. Mick Alton has seeked me out to sleep in my bed. And he was drunk. Oh thank you, fate. I checked all the necessary things on my body. Good to go. I shook my hair and ran down the dorm stairs, ready to run into Mick’s loving arms and begin the rest of my life. What I saw made my heart stop for about ten seconds. SMSU was a party school – not gonna lie - and it had worked its magic on Mick. He was about 50 to 60 pounds heavier. The beer had bloated his face. He had shaved his head, probably because he lost a bet. His clothes were dirty and looked like they had been worn for a week. The sparkle was gone and replaced with a bleary blink.
I walked up to this stranger that I once knew so well. We had some conversation that I don’t remember because at this point, my brain was shriveling up from shame.
Had I wasted a majority of my young life pining for this mess in front of me? How many guys had I shunned or teased without reward at the hope of this man being mine for eternity? Oh hell - I had screwed up.
We walked up to my dorm suite in silence. When we got there, I said, “Okay, sleep on the couch…good night,” and promptly shut my bedroom door.
When I woke up the next morning he was gone. I wonder if he had sat up all night waiting for me to slip onto the couch with him, kissing his lips and professing my desire. At what point he realized that no footsteps were coming? Maybe a decade later, he had hurt the way I had at the lake that summer.
Good.
I never saw Mick again after that brief encounter. My parents went to his wedding in the summer of 2007. From the information I gleaned from my parents, he straightened himself out, regained mild hotness, graduated college, and found the love of his life…
It only took him twenty years longer than me.
What constitutes a “love of your life early”? It takes certain requirements.
You are under the age of thirteen.
You think about this fellow every day for at least five years, ten is preferred.
There must be some mutual attraction. He doesn’t have to love you or date you, but you must have some romantic affair at some point.
He must be a part of at least one major moment in your life: first kiss, first period, first vacation, first
time and so on. The more the better.
He has to break your heart.
Your first name and his last name have been put together on the back of your 3 ring binder 50 times, minimum.
He cannot be a member of a band or a movie star unless you yourself are a member of a band or a movie star. The love of your life cannot be tacked onto your wall from a Big Bopper magazine tear out. That just makes you kinda crazy.

June 26, 2009 or Single in the City

2009-06-26T07:18:00.001-05:00

So of course the same week I move to the city to "get out there" and meet new city boys is the exact same week that a heat wave strikes the city. And while, yes, I have still gotten out there and walked Stella, it has been for about 15 minutes until her tongue is walking behind her and she is panting like a bear, and I am dressed in half a wife beater and sweat shorts. My hair is matted to my shiny face and I have two stupid lines under my bra where my stomach/chest is showing signs of the heat.
Ladies, don't you hate those lines?! They are like two arrows pointing to your torso saying, "Look, My boobs are sweating! Right here....riiiight under my bra."
Those people who have ever walked/ran with me and Stella in a public area will attest that we get stopped constantly. And a walk in South City is no different. We were stopped by six people in 15 minutes during our Tuesday walk. Two of the six were really cute guys. As I am smiling and repeating my line, "She's a Chinese Crested Boston Terrier," I am inside my head screaming at myself for not checking for fat rolls and bra lines before leaving the apartment. Then, once after talking to a cute guy, we started walking again and I looked at my shadow. I could see my hair disaster outlined on the sidewalk in gray. My ponytail was slipping down one side of my head and lumps of tangles were popping up everywhere. Like a cockroach. Aesthetically defeated, we returned to our home and sucked on ice cube Popsicles in panting silence.
My introduction to my new neighborhood.
"Yeah some crazy lady with a funny looking dog just moved in...I think she just got out of prison. Oh, and her boobs leak."

Until Next Friday,
Pauline

June 19, 2009 or Movin on Up

2009-06-19T07:26:00.000-05:00

Tomorrow with the help of a few faithful friends, I will be transported to the world of South City, Saint Louis. Yup. I'm movin'. Currently, I hold residence in the County part of the Lou. For those of you not familiar with Saint Louis, the first thing we will ask you when we meet you is, "Where did you go to high school?" This helps us put a little thumb tack on the maps in our minds. If we don't recognize your school because it is in some foreign land like, say, Ohio, then you are a blank slate. However, if you give me the name of a school in Saint Louis, within 30 seconds of processing said information I will be able to tell you everything there is to know about you: religion, ancestors, pet names, cars you've driven, malls you shop at, favorite food, names you will name your kids and so on.
My point?
I am moving 10 miles across town and expect my dating selection to change drastically. I hope the hoosier element is removed and replaced with urban up and comers. I expect to have access to more bikers that pedal instead of throttle. The city guys cook for themselves and know the best restaurants to go to when they feel like taking it easy in the kitchen. These restaurants ussulally don't have peanut shells covering the floor.
They run. They play tennis. They have jobs. They don't live with their mamas.
Oh, and they are way friendlier. The city, known for its violence and gang activity, has a softer side. The men and women say hello and make eye contact with each other. I guess it's because we belong to an elite club of South City-ites and have an understanding. "You live here?! So do I!"
This will help immensely in my mating season. And with Stella walking by my side down the sidewalk, the possibilities are endless. Wish me luck!

Until Next Friday,
Pauline

June 12, 2009 or updates!

2009-06-12T08:00:00.001-05:00

So I went to the gym after work yesterday and ran. I ran three miles. Straight. Today I can't feel my butt, but while I was there, this gorgeousssss guy was lifting weights. He would not stop looking over at me. I kept looking around waiting to see some hot girl working out in his line of sight, but it was just me and an old Vietnamese guy. So, I am pretty sure I was the object of visual trajectory. For 30 minutes, he would do a rep, check over with me, smile and do another rep. Weird.
I just kept thinking, Either he thinks I am beautiful or he is in shock that a fat girl can run this long.
Ha.

How are my single people doing during mating season? Has anyone made it to STEP 3: Talk to him/her? Post your experiences!

Several of us are going out tonight for Happy Hour at Growler's Pub. Sound the bugles and release the hounds!

Until Next Friday,
Pauline

June 6, 2009 or Mating Season

2009-06-05T07:39:00.001-05:00

Yes, we humans start a little late, but the pool at my apartment is open, (for better or worse) people are wearing less clothing, and in Saint Louis the beer is flowing like a waterfall in Canada. Thus - it is mating season 2009.

I am single again and therefore excited to participate in this ritual. The problem is that single people are stupid. We have forgotten how to interact this time of year, so here are a few reminders for both sexes.

Step 1: Go out. Let’s move people! I want to start seeing more single people in the grocery store, the park, the gym, and on the sidewalks. Get out to the bars and don’t just sit with your friends in a booth all night! Mingle! Stand! Married people – you sit. Single people – you stand. That way we can tell who is who. It’s like a hunter who wears orange. You don’t shoot those people (in theory).

Step 2. Eye contact! I was a huge fan of stare - look away - stare - look away - when I was 15. But now I am encouraging all of you to look people in the eyes! Married people – you keep looking down. That will be our sign! I was at the Tin Can Bar the other day and the married men kept flirting with me. I was like, “Back off, I am working here and I saw your wedding ring a mile away the minute you walked in. Get to stepping.” So if eye contact is made, we can establish that a) you like looking at me and I like looking back at you and b) you are single and no crazy lady is going to swing a purse at me for looking back.

Step 3: Talk to each other. I am terrible at this. Just simply awful. Gabe *sigh* came in to fix my laptop because it crashed (no, not on purpose even though I keep saying I am going to break it so he will come in), and I just stood there. Staring at him. He even looked up and I just said, “So…workin’ are you?” Bah! I am an idiot.
However, if a nice man is sitting next to me in church, I need to say something. “Hey, so…you like Jesus too, huh? Cool.” You know who is reallllly good at this? Old Men. Old men are the best stranger-flirters in the world. I was at the grocery store on Wednesday and walked up to get some yogurt. And immediately, a cute old man just looks at me and says, “Come on in. The water’s warm.” It didn’t even make sense, but we started chatting. If he were about 30 years younger, we would have had a date set up. Then I was walking Stella and another old man just started talking to me about the dogs he had in his life. It was amazing. You ducklings need to take a hint for your wiser counterparts.

Step 4: Oh, for God’s sake, ask each other out. NO. Wait. Men – ask US out! We’re tired of doing the dirty work. Here’s your starter:
“Do you like:
a. the park
b. coffee
c. vodka
d. zebras
e. music
f. sushi?”
Any of these things work. Ask someone this question. Just make sure you have done Step 3 enough that you get the vibe. If that person with whom you started talking has remained in the conversation for more than 5 minutes, they want to go out with you. You must immediately go to Step 4. If you ask, “Do you like the park?” and they say, “No.” Then they don’t want to go out with you. You can say “Me neither! Parks are for pussies!” and walk away. But if they say, “Why, yes, I love the park!” Then they want to go out with you! Move on to “Would you like to go to the park with me and walk around? Perhaps I can call you and we can plan a picnic.”
If a man did that to me, I would pee myself from pure shock. And then I would say, “Yes. I’ll bring the Doritos.” (God, I really love Doritos.)
Now, if the person responds with, “Um, (eyebrow cocked) yeah. I guess?” they just think you are a freak and like to ask people about zebras. This is a fine line. I don’t know what to tell you about moving on to the date question, fate is in your own hands!

Re-read these steps until you are familiar with them all and can act on them at any moment. Let’s make some romances happen people! Please report on your progress in the comment section!

Until Next Friday,

Pauline

May 29, 2009 or the default.

2009-05-29T06:14:00.000-05:00

Where was this idea my whole life?!

A month ago, I went to visit the fam up in Columbia for a preseason football scrimmage. This is mostly irrelevant except for the fact the Nick came up to visit as well. Nick is Spencer's best friend. Nick is also 30, adorable, successful, funny and really one of the nicest men I have met in a while.

Nick also lives in Kansas City. For those of you that read this blog in Sweden, that is about 250 miles from me. This seems like a detriment, but it has led me to the perfect relationship.

Nick is cool, super cool. And he and I both went back to Columbia this past weekend for Memorial Day. It was just the four of us at the house, Me, Nick, Grace and Spence. Then we hung out with our other CoMo couple for a total of six plus a few dogs, a cat and a three year old. Nick and I were immediately the only single people there, but we were also a couple. Not a word was said between us about it, but suddenly, I had a default boyfriend and he had a default ladyfriend. We sat in the booth together across from the marrieds, we play on teams as need be for all the games, we touched each others thighs when someone told a very funny story. It was couple-y. But at midnight, we both parted ways to go to our own bedrooms. No making out, no weirdness, nothing. But come the morning, I would get Nick's coffee and he would refill mine. Fabulous. A man that pays for my breakfast's and I don't have to sleep with him the night before!? Amazing.

Then, Monday afternoon we parted ways with a "See ya later!"

It's great! There is sexual opportunity, but no sexual tension. It's fantastic. The perfect default relationship. I have my single life and when I need to be a couple, I let loose the Bat Signal and - boom- there he is.

Seriously, single people, you gotta get you one of these.

Until Next Friday,
Pauline

May 21, 2009 or The Great Hamster Wheel

2009-05-22T07:18:00.000-05:00

As I was sitting in a bar with Grace and Spencer, I recounted the events that had just occurred...

We walked into the bar. The very full bar being that it was a Friday night in the college town of Columbia. I scanned the place for a spare table - finding none. What I did find was a man in a motorcycle d0-rag, full beard, bike chaps and a bucket of beer all to himself. He waved me over, saying "You guys can sit with me." His mostly toothless smile was endearing, but, alas, it was not to be. A group of people left a new table free and we sat there instead. The gentleman continued to check in with me throughout dinner using the conversation of the eyebrows.

"See, that is why I like the Blue Collared Boy."

"Oh, Pauline, please don't tell me you like that guy."

"No, No. But he was instantly nice to me."

"He likes your chest."

"Perhaps," I said, biting into my onion ring. I love those so much.

"You know what I think you problem is?" Oh no, Grace is going philosophical. "You only want guarantees."

"Preach on sister."

"You like the guys you know will want you. Easy. And maybe this is your problem. You need to go for the guy you want. Not the one who just wants you."

And as I broke up with Jake for what might have been the 10th time in 5 months, I finally agreed with her. I scan the room for the man who is like all the other men who instantly like me. It's easy, clean, uncomplicated. But those good guys, they are out of reach for me. When I look at the successful, kind, clean cut guy, suddenly a mirror is held up to me. I am awkward, my nose is too big, my thigh are even bigger, I don't know how to drive a stick shift, etc. Racing thoughts that cause my eyes to cast downward and avoid these fellas.

But, I will try. This week's mission: Make eye contact with good guys, despite my lack of a pronounced chin or whatever else is wrong with me.

I will report my progress Next Friday, unless I die of shame -

Pauline

May 15, 2009 or "oh, hmmm"

2009-05-15T10:40:00.002-05:00

Why are co workers so rude? Who hired these dumb asses?
I have a fellow unmarried coworker who is 32, and we commiserate on our dating lives. On Wednesday, we were talking in the lunch lounge about how she went on a boring blind date, blah blahbablh. A fellow coworker (one of those weird ones who has no idea how weird they are and so they constantly are sticking their foots in their mouths) walks in and begins jumping into our conversation. Huge pet peeve of mine by the way.
She interrupts Kristi.
Annnnnnd scene -

Annoying woman: Bad date huh?
K: Yeah, it was just boring not really ba-
AW: (Sitting down and leaning in wayyy to close to Kristi) Well, here's your problem.
Pauline: (Said only in head) Remember what she says because it will be good blog fodder.
AW: Your eggs are getting old. I mean what are you, like 35.
K: 32.
PF: Awesome!
AW: Well, that's close. Listen. You can't be too picky. Look at you. I have a friend who is 45. I can give him your number if you give it to me!
K: No thanks. (I mean really, what can you possibly say after that.)
AW: Well, we don't get younger, so think about it.
(Stupid bitch walks out of the room.)
(Kristi sits in stunned silence.)
(Pauline looks around the room for the camera man and immediately writes this conversation down on her Palm Pilot.)

The End.

What the fuck.
Until Next Friday,

Pauline

2009-05-08T05:27:00.000-05:00

May 8, 2009 or Enchiladas for one please…

I took my date to a friend’s Cinco de Mayo party on Tuesday. My date being Stella. So it has come back to this. Pauline. Party of one.
Jake called me on Monday during work. Get this…he called from his friend’s phone. I answered being that I did not recognize the number:
“Hello?”
“Hey, it’s me.”
“Um, I’m sorry, I don’t know this number.”
“It’s Jake.”
“Oh, um, I am at work. It’s 9 in the morning.”
“I know. But I need to talk to you. Can I call you tonight and talk? Please. Please. I love you.”
Sigh. I’m a sucker.
“Fine, we can talk. Call me tonight.”
“Oh, yes! We will work this out. Love you, call you tonight. Promise.”

And so I waited. Well, no I did not really wait. I just checked my phone while I carried on my life. And at 10 o’clock, I realized that he had stood me up – again. I don’t know if this translates well onto a blog, but Jake stood me up about 30 times in 4 months. And Easter. Then, in his attempt to win me back – the love of his life – he stands me up for a phone call. I don’t get it and will not even try to. I am officially single. And so I return to single life. I was hoping that maybe I was done with this little life style.
But it is me and the dog and the cat once again. If I get a female hamster and put a white wig on it, we can be the new version of The Golden Girls (pour one out for Dorothy!).
One woman, three animals. All living the single life of their twilight years. Watch what wackiness these crazy gals can get into.
In this episode…
Pauline is working at her computer, with her Gmail account up on the screen. In walks Gabe, the hot IT guy.
“I need to check your computer. The server screwed it up I think.”
(Now, on any given day, this would be a fantasy in the making. Gabe! Making excuses to check my computer! Cue the music and unbutton the blouse.)
But this is a comedy. Instead -
Before Pauline can close her Gmail, Gabe pulls up a chair and sits down. Up on her Gmail Inbox, is a Match.com email about how some guy has winked at her, and if she renews her subscription now…
Gabe sits and stares at the screen.
No! Not today!
Pauline gets up and starts arranging knick knacks around the office trying to hide her purple face. Beads of sweat encircle her forehead. Great! Now Gabe knows that Pauline is desperate and looking for love in all the weird places.
Gabe leaves to check the server. Pauline rushed back to the computer to find.
Dum dum duuuuum….
That her Gmail inbox has been erased!! The Match email is gone. Gone. Gabe deleted it.

Tune in some other time when we find out why the hell he would do that…

Until Next Friday,
Pauline

May whatever, 2009, or the true story

2009-05-04T10:43:00.003-05:00

What time is it? Where am I? Who am I?
I thinks I gots the Spring Fever. My apologies for no Friday blog.
Okay so Jake.
He stood me up for Easter.
He asked to come to church with me and then take me out for lunch. At 8:30 in the morning, he texted his cancellation to me. Arguments ensued. Over text messages. I love Jake dearly, but - and call me crazy - I refuse to get stood up on Holy days.
I have no idea what his damage it, but I do know this. Text messages are the Devil. Jake and I have never fought person to person or phone call to phone call.
So I am starting a campaign. Dating someone in real life. Lets all get off the match's and eharms, and texts and TALK to people who we might possible want to have sex with. Don't just Facebook friend them and leave it at that, hoping they do a wall-to-wall personal message!
What a revolution we could start! My brother-in-law has a friend - a very cute friend - who is on match. And we hung out all weekend. And we talked about the online nightmare. I just kept thinking "You're attractive, I'm attractive, lets do this..." but he's on Match. So to find someone in real life would be to basically waste money.
And if Jake and I did not have unlimited texting to each other, we would still be together.
So here is my plan for us single people to go back to old school dating:
* Every other "girls/guys" night needs to be "lets go flirt" night. Get out there! Going to Denny's with your friends is awesome, trust me; I love chicken fingers and ranch, but let's try a singles scene once in a while. Let's go raid a kickball tournament and pick up some studs.
* No more online crap. Let's go run in the park. I'll be the one with the funny looking dog.
3. Make eye contact with 5 attractive-to-you people every day. Smile at them. See what happens.
4. Couple friends: You must start hooking us up. We need the variety.

Until Next Friday,
Pauline

April 24, 2009 or Ask Pauline Part Deux.

2009-04-24T10:28:00.001-05:00

Dear Pauline:What the hell is up with those fake 'pairs' I've seen hanging from the hitches of a certain breed of males' pickup trucks? Is this in any way connected to those ripoff 'Calvins' who are always peeing on logos? And should a male who is in possession of either one of those be allowed to procreate?
I have seen these lovely additions to lifted trucks everywhere. After all, I do live in Missouri, home of the camouflage paint job. I really like the ones that are silver. They’re so much classier than the flesh toned.
I date these men. No, wait - I dated these men – in the past. I have also dated the “Piss on Chevy” Calvin stickers as well. I do not understand the thought behind them. It is on par with my favorite “bad boy” sticker on cars: “Lift it. Fat chicks can’t climb.” Awesomeness on a bumper.
Unfortunately, these men are the most fertile turtles on the planet.
Dear Pauline, how long should you wait after a breakup before dating again? Are the rules different if you left your ex or vice-versa? Thx!
Start immediately either way – dumper or dumpee. Especially if you are over the age of 25. What are you waiting for? Emotional healing? Proper etiquette? For your ex to decide that they really do love you and will come back, with their tailgate testicles swinging behind them? No. Move on. Start flirting with everyone. On the highway, the subway, the grocery store. Leave no stone unturned. Time is tickin.

Oh, Ps. I broke up with Jake. More later! I'm too busy flirting with everyone!

PF

April 17, 2009 or Ask Pauline!

2009-04-17T06:11:00.000-05:00

It’s Ask Pauline Week! Hooray.

Thanks friend for the questions, ‘cuz I had no idea what to talk about this week with the Jakester.

1. Where do you stand on selling an ex's "gifts" on eBay?
I am pretty sure that, for a while, my 2 carat, diamond engagement ring was floating around on the auction blocks of “the bay” before it graced another woman’s finger. It was a great ring. Only thing I miss about those 7 years.
I have been lucky enough to avoid this issue because all the men that I have ever dated have given me A) living things that died or B) cheap ass shit that no one else wants. This stuff wasn’t even worth the photo you need to put it on eBay. I did have some jewelry that Quinn didn’t steal from my jewelry box (Oh, yes he did! He stole my jewelry people). But he knew that stuff was so ugly that even the pawn shop wouldn’t want it. So…I sold it at a garage sale at my sister’s house. $200 necklaces for $10 each! The woman who wanted them at the garage sale didn’t believe that these were really diamonds and gold since I was selling them for rock bottom prices – until I told her about my break up with that dick cheese. Then she bought all of it. I made $50. So, hell - to me eBay is moving up in the world.
My only advice would be to save stuff from a semi-decent break up. I still have the love letters and silly fake diamond and gold heart necklace that Jake bought me when we were 20. I showed it to him the other day. “You kept all this?” he said, and that big lug teared up a bit. But if the guy was a jerk and you will never, NEVER want to even look at a picture of him again, post that junk. The rest? Burn it at a party.

2. I know it's very 90's of me to ask, but where do you stand on "The Rules"?

Oh, The Rules. I can’t say that I ever read the book all the way through. I didn’t need it. I had my man and we were getting married right out of colle…oh, well I did fuck up that part. My book is “Anti-Rules” in that it is how to remain single, so I needed to read up on the competition a bit anyway. I did a little research on this question. I found the top 10 rules from these two dipshits that wrote the book. Here’s my take on them.

Be a creature unlike any other.
Check! I refuse to go to the bathroom where anyone in a 20 foot radius could hear me pee. That’s unique, right? Shit, everyone’s unique. If you try to do this, you end up in a pink feather boa dancing on a table at a winery. Don’t try people. You are a special snowflake just as God made you.

Show up to events, parties and social occasions even if you don’t feel like it.
Done. I’m always game. I believe them on this one, but I am kinda a drunk.

It’s a fantasy relationship unless a man asks you out.
Yes. But these are the best relationships. Dream on ladies. Dream on!

In an office relationship, do not email him back every time he emails you unless it is business related.
This is true too. I am a classic email office stalker. With Gabe, the IT hottie, I would make up problems. I would email him. He would email 3 days later. I would email 3 seconds later. He would email 3 days later. I would email 2 seconds later. It got ugly. I started emailing him responses to emails before he sent them.

If you are in a long distance relationship, he must visit you 3 times before you visit him.
What? Why? Save on airfare? This is weird. Then that asshole gets all the frequent flyer miles AND you have to clean your sheets. Not fair.

When considering using the internet, place the ad and let them respond to you.
Oh, yeah. This is wrong. Here’s why. The men on the internet are pusses. They don’t know how to ask a woman out. That is why they are online. So waiting for Chuck to look at your picture, suddenly grow a pair and throw caution to the wind is not going to happen. You must wink. Wink. wink.

If he doesn’t call, he's not that interested. Period.
Yes, but it doesn’t stop us from thinking that this PARTICULAR guy is different. His phone is just broken. Really.

Close the deal. Rules women do not date men for more than 2 years.
Oh, um. Heh. Heh. I used to think this was a stupid rule. But it is not. It’s right. I hate to say that. 2 years - or walk.

Buyer beware. Observe his behavior so you don’t end up with Mr. Wrong.
Oh, really you stupid bitches? NO ONE has ever thought of that idea!!! What a bunch of dumb broads. How did they ho's get a book deal and I can’t? “If he acts like a fuckin’ moron, he might be one.” Really!? Really?!?! I hate them.

Keep doing the rules. Even when things are slow.
Wrong. When times are slow, screw anything that moves. You must keep up your strength.

Keep those questions coming because my relationship is boring as fuck. If you don't ask more questions...then I am going to have to start a fight with Jake to keep this blog going.

Until Next Friday,

Pauline

April 10, 2009 or the change

2009-04-03T07:26:00.006-05:00

Do you remember in high school when you had to read that stupid book where the dude turns into a bug overnight?
I hated that book so much because I hate bugs, and if I woke up AS a bug, I would get a big ass can of Raid and kill myself.
Ok, so I am not turning into a bug. It might be a little better, but not much.
I am turning into...
a girlfriend.
I know! What happened? Last weekend I made homemade banana muffins, hummus dip, homemade bread, homemade eggplant lasagna, cheesecake and smoothies. Why? Because Jake might be hungry when he came by after work.
When I talk to Stella and Maggie about Jake, I refer to him as 'Daddy.' "No, no Stella, that's Daddy's pillow. Get down."
I match my bra to my underwear.
I shave everyday....just in case.
I went to the movie theater and watched a horror movie. People, I hate horror movies.
I end all of my phone conversations with, "I love you/love you too." I've almost done it to strangers and friends. How awkward is that?
"Well Miss, it looks like you have paid up for April on your cable."
"Thanks!"
"Anything else we can do for you today?"
"Nope, that's it! Bye! I love you."
"Uh. I love you too?"
Awkward.
I have to plan out my girl time to make sure I see my friends at least once a week!
I am now a fan of hockey.

Where does this stop?
Tupperware parties?
Sensible shoes on the weekend?!
Joining CURVES because my ass is so huge from my new birth control that it almost can't fit through the door?!!

Please, if this happens, get the Raid.

Until Next Friday,
Pauline

April 3, 2009 or Beat It.

2009-04-03T07:26:00.001-05:00

Bad ways to end a date:

While your possible night's hook up is taking ultra long pooping in your bathroom, you pee your pants in the hallway waiting for your turn.

Beat that.

True story of a friend. Not me. Swear.

Until Next Friday,

Pauline

March 29, 2009 or I think I'm a Blanche.

2009-03-29T07:00:00.000-05:00

What do the Golden Girls know that we don't?
They are always dating.

And not only are they always dating, they are dating attractive, successful, fun and older men. They even date Burt Reynolds and Julio Iglesias (well, Sophia does.) Oh sure there's the Stan's, the slimes and even some circus acts, but overall those ladies did it right.

My friend Jessie has made an important decision in her life. She is getting out of a long, torn up relationship and thinking about ending the fling she's been having with another man to work through the long, torn up relationship. In an effort to do this Jessie announced to me (while walking down the freezing streets of Chicago this weekend) that she's going to give older men a try.
I support this effort 100%. In my experience the best men to date are older. But how much older?
I made up a pro and con list of different ages of dating to help both Jessie and any wandering-eye readers thinking of jumping on the trolley.

(Note: This is based on an American woman aged 30. Adjust to yourself accordingly).

18-22
Pro: Virile like a stallion. They have insatiable sex drives, all of the time in the world to use those drives (2 classes a day? Really?) and just enough experience to not be terrible.
Pro: Mold them. Mold them like Play-Doh figurines.
Pro: Tight college boy bodies.
Con: Hope you like beer and chicken wings, because that is a night on the town.
Con: No money, no job, strong chance they might move back home and go to grad school for 2 years.
Con: You might have to trade sex for buying his friends booze.
Con: I am too old to look good naked to them, no matter what I do. All sex must be in the dark.
Overall: Good for about 3 weekends of fun sex. Then walk away.

23-28
Pro: Getting a job and a little cash. Feels empowered. Sometimes acts like a man.
Pro: Gets an apartment. You can decorate it.
Pro: May be marriage oriented and work to keep you on the job.
Pro: Perfect sex time. Won't go limp, Still has a drive and will do very good things to you with experience.
Con: These are the crazy years. Be prepared for possible meltdowns. This is where they will suddenly realize they are depressed, anxious, gay, bi-polar and generally psycho. Oh, and you will be to blame.
Con: May move to another city to pursue dream.
Con: Must still date on a 25,000 a year budget while he gets on his feet.
Con: Will start to lose his college buddies and you will take the role of football buddy.
Overall: Good relationship starter. Do not seal any deals though, he might whip out some crazy cards.

29-35:
Pro: Established self. This man (like his female counterpart) knows who he is and what he wants from life.
Pro: He can last a long time in bed (see con though for risks.)
Pro: Money is strong. Career and town of living is established. A home might even be involved.
Pro: Dating is simple. "What do you like to do? Then let's do that!" No experimenting with random indoor rock climbing adventures.
Pro: This guy will take you on fun vacations, not just Spring Break '09.
Con: Hard to find them from here on out. Might have to get creative in you search.
Con: Divorce and little annoying children are a strong possibility. "Oh, no. I um, heh, heh, loooove children."
Con: He might be boring. These are the couch potato years as work and stress increase. Hope you like reruns on TBS.
Con: Limpness. Its hitting all of them at this point. This man's sex drive is slower and sometimes doesn't exist. This is less of a risk with the blue collar boys.
Con: If he is balding, watch out, he will be obsessed with it.
Overall: Marrying material. Just don't lose yourself in the sludge. Keep him energized.

36-45:
Pro: Gray Hair. I fucking LOVE gray hair on men. And I have never met a woman that disagrees.
Pro: All bad habits, save one, are gone. This man is over doing tequila shots, smoking pot, farting in cars. He might smoke a cigar, hit the track, or drink too many martinis, but your fix-it list is very short.
Pro: Kids are grown or at least a little older and not so annoying.
Pro: The market has increased and all the divorces of the 30's are finalized. The dating pool is doubled.
Pro: Money. These men will date you right. You will be wined and dined.
Con: Sex drives are hard to manage at this point. He will either need pills for constant reinforcement or he will be a Tom Car wanting to bang you in the back of his Lincoln. Sex is not the driving force for this relationship.
Con: This man, if never married before is a hard core bachelor. You will not change his ways. He doesn't do laundry on Sunday. Period, end of argument.
Overall: Super date-able if you are willing to concede some very specific issues.

45-60:
Pro: Money. This man will not only wine and dine you, he will take you to Hawaii.
Pro: You are the sexiest Greek goddess know to man. Cellulite? Who cares? Sightly draggy boobs? At least they are a little perky. You can have sex with the lights on in any room of the house with the confidence that you are gorgeous.
Pro: A date is a true date. You are eating lobster, going to the opera and making love on a satin sheet covered bed.
Pro: Kids are grown and maybe even cool enough to hang out with. Maybe.
Pro: If they are hot, these are the hottest men on the list. They still have decent bodies and gray hair and a few sexy wrinkles and glasses and good taste in clothes. Whew. I am totally flustered all of the sudden.
Con: Hope he has a good insurance policy, those pills aren't cheap.
Con: You run the risk of just being arm candy and not a partner in the relationship. You are to him what the 20 year old guy is to you: fun, pure fun.
Con: He's going to kick the bucket in 15-20 years. Get in the will now.
Overall: Good for fantasy dating. Limited marriage possibilities in the upper age range.

60+
Pro: You will get all the money if you are good in bed.
Con: You will be reminded of your father.
Overall: No. Unless you are 40+ do not date, please.

Until Next Friday. Promise. Sorry all, I had my crazy week and then went on vacation! I will be better,

Pauline

March 13, 2009 or the Jake Update

2009-03-13T07:46:00.000-05:00

I am happy to announce that Jake and I are 'so far so good.' It has been two months since our first date. And aside from our little snafu over Valentine's Day, we are rockin'.
And so I must apologize. I got nuthin.
We cook dinner together. He grills; I make a salad.
We watch movies on the couch. We trade off - the ratio of zombie movie to Jane Austin adaptation is even.
We fall asleep and then wake up and go to work.
We talk in the phone at lunch, checking in on how the days are going.
We go out with the friends.
He's met the family, again.

How can I write when my relationship is so normal?

Until Next Friday,

Pauline.

February 27, 2009 or uh...nevermind.

2009-02-27T06:02:00.001-06:00

What is it about a simple comment of I love you. I'm sorry. That carries so much power?
Yeah. I fell for it.

Jake and I are back together. He told me he was an idiot and that I was worth too much to him and all the other silly things can go to the wayside as long as I am his.
Sigh.

I will spare you the details becasue it will either
a) bore you
b) get you mad and make you think I am an idiot.

I make no bones about the latter. I am an idiot. But there are times in your life when you have to simply go on gut.

So I talked to him; I have to give it another try.

Like Lucia says, "Either way, you have to know for sure that the choice is right, no matter which way you go." Which is so true. I was sick about missing Jake. Sick about not having him in my life. Flaws be damned, I love that man. And isn't that what it comes down to.

I will keep you informed. Like always.

Until Next Friday,

Pauline

Fe bruary 20, 2009 or No, wait...no wait...

2009-02-19T17:19:00.001-06:00

About a year ago I dated a man who broke it off because he said that my friends were too fat. Really - go back and look at the old blogs. I thought at that moment in my life that I had met the biggest asshole in the dating world.

Nope. Jake just topped it. Yes, my sweet kind, blue collared Jake. The man who told me that he had fallen in love with me 10 years ago and nothing was going to make him lose me twice. Nothing!

That is - before he met...

dum, dum ,dummmmmmm:

Stella. Yes. My evil little dog has now trumped my fat friends as a break up excuse.

Get ready - this shit is all real:

After missing Valentine's day and three days of silence. Jake sent me a text on Wednesday saying - I feel (well, he spelled it feal, but whatever) really bad. So started our text marathon.

Me: Why do you feel bad?

Jake: I screwed up the last time and this time.

Me: I sent the crazy text message, remember?

Jake: Ok, yes, but I do care about you and you are great. I wish things could be different, but there is a problem that I can't really handle.

Me:Hit me.

Jake: Your dog scooted its butt on the ground and then snored all night. It is gross. And annoying.

(Okay, yes, this is true. Stella has an issue with a dry butt. She has skin issues. This week it is her booty. At Bridget's party she was doing it. It is embarrassing, but I can't beat a dog because her medicine dries her out. All I can do is aplogize and not bring her to parties anymore. But her own home? Yup, she also snores like a train. And?....)

Don't fuck with my dog.

The final text of the evening goes like this:

Me: "Your dog is too gross and you are not good enough for me when you are not perfect" says the unemployed 31 year old pot smoker who watches UFC and lives in his dad's basement. hilarious.

The end. Yes, I asked for it dating a loser. But in my defense, he was sweet at first until he turned dick overnight.

Sigh. Until Next Friday,
Pauline

Feb 15, 2009 or done. I'm done.

2009-02-15T08:52:00.002-06:00

Yeah, so I think I am going to talk to my Dad about possibly arranging a marriage for me. He's a cool dad; I think he'll do it.

February 20, 2009 or He's Just Not Into You: a movie review.

2009-02-15T08:12:00.006-06:00

I found this in my "blogs that I forgot to publish" list. Enjoy. Or don't. You'll still get a blog next Friday...
Last Friday night, Lucia and I ventured out to the cinema to see He's Just Not That Into You. I had not heard from Jake still and was well in need of a cathartic chick flick.
When we got to the highly populated with teenagers theater, we walked past the line of hoosiers and rag tags standing in line to watch Friday the 13th. There were about 200 people in line, and as we breezed by I said under my breath, "Ha, ha. Suckers. That will teach you to watch a horror film."
Oh, how little I knew. I was about to watch a slasher movie of my own.
HJNTIY starts innocuously enough, there are 5 stereotypical women all with distinctly different love lives. Friends in surprising divorces, struggling to understand why a certain man just won't call them back, accepting that technology has to be the new coffee house, and struggling with a really long relationship that will not end in marriage. They had lives that were daily and normal. Yeah, yeah, I know these people, I have a friend in all of these categories. Ha, ha. Weeeee, chick flick!
Oh, but then Jennifer Aniston's character, Beth, has a mild - let's say - discussion with her boyfriend, played by Ben Affleck about how they had been dating for 7 years and now her sister was getting married and that made her uncomfortable...and she just didn't understand why they were not there yet.
Yeah. I've done that.
Then Drew Barrymore's Mary gets overly excited about getting 'Myspaced' by a dude.
Yeah. I did that last year with Ethan.
Oh, shit.
Then, When Gigi does a stop-by to fraudulently return a pen to a bar where her latest incredible disappearing man hangs out during Happy Hour, I started cringing at the horror.
Oh, the horror.
This movie was might as well have been set in a fucking camp in the wood that has a eerily foggy lake.
As the movie continued, I was seeing my life on screen. Sure there were trite and predictable moments, but the ones that were spot on were scary. At one point, I had my turtleneck pulled over my nose and Lucia was covering her eyes like we were watching Jason slash his way through the woods. "No! Oh, no Girl....Do NOT open that cell phone again. It didn't ring! There's no voicema.... oh..she opened it."
"Oh, don't look! Lucia, don't look, the married guy is going to kiss Scarlett Johannsen, no, it's wrong, you're marrrrrriiied - Oh, he did it. He kissed her."
Killer.
The end was the worst. In the opening of the movie, they mention that there are very few exceptions to the rule that when a man doesn't call or walks away he is not into you. These women all give up on their men using this rule. They move on in their lives.
But at the end of this slasher, all the girls are the exceptions. Well, the divorcee gets screwed over, but the rest of them get the man. He really was in love with her, he was just an idiot man who didn't KNOW he was in love.
What?Lucia and I were flabbergasted. Really? Really?! I looked at her, "I guess if you look like these girls, you are the exception."
I guess they have to keep some characters alive for He's Just Not That Into You II.

Until Next Friday,

Pauline

February 14, 2009 or why I hate this day.

2009-02-14T08:17:00.001-06:00

I am drunk writing this. Bear with the spell and ranting. And mild bitchiness.
When I was single, I hated this holiday.
When I was engaged, I hated this holiday.
I am....I don't know what I am right now, and I hate this holiday.
When you are single, it is such a bitter reminder of your lack of love that we have renamed it SAD, Single Awareness Day. A day when a bright light shines on your loneliness. The only good part? If you have good girlfriends, you can grab some yummy booze and tear up the town. You might have a one night stand with an equally lonely man, but that is rare.
When you are taken, you are going to get some shitty heart necklace (men - I don't CARE what she or Zales says, heart necklaces are bullshit. Don't give us them.I have three and hate them all.) And unless you are getting engaged, married or pregnant on this day, it is always a slight disappointment. (Hell, even then, it still might be a let down.) You get really excited about a restaurant, but it is crowded with other couples trying to be excited. too much money gets spent, lingerie gets bought that never looks as good as it does on the model. It just sucks. The bonus? Sex. 6 out of 10 times.
But it is always a slight downer. As single people, we get hyped up about our power in the world due to a lack of a lover, but deep down we know that we would much rather be getting a plush teddy bear over power dancing at a night club. And if in a relationship, sometime we realize on this day that we have sold our independence down river and there are people out on cool dance floors having wildly independent lives. We can't win.
Or like me, where mild let down doesn't even begin to describe how you plan out a Valentine's Day in spite of your hatred of the holiday because you are so in luuuuuv that you are going out and buying fucking cards with hearts and puppies and shit on them so you can write a sappy ass note about how happy you are and buy steaks that will make your stomach hurt but he loves steaks so you will suffer but then 3 days before then you fuck everything up by going PMS psycho in a text message and freak out the first man you have felt remote caring for in two years that felt it back so now you will probably spend Valentines day with your toothless dog and hyperactive kitten while hoping and praying that there is a What Not to Wear or Golden Girls marathon on cable because if there is not you might think twice about trying crack cocaine.
I need to go refill my glass.

Until Next Friday,
Pauline

February 13, 2009 or Stupid stupid stupid

2009-02-12T19:06:00.002-06:00

Really?! Really!!?!?! Why do I do it?
For about thirty seconds, I lost my fucking mind and now he is feeling "awkward."
We aren't talking. Just mad texts.
We were talking on the phone Wednesday night. He did not seem 100% in the conversation. I said nothing about it, until - for some insane reason - I sent a mad text about him not caring about what I have to say. He had no idea "what I was talking about," which totally set me off. I said that he obviously didn't care what I even texted because he was only interested in getting me in bed...oh yeah, I did.
This totally flipped him out.
I should not own a cell phone.
Happy Mother Fuckin' Valentine's Day. I hate this damn holiday.

Until Next Friday (unless I decide to go play in traffic)
Pauline

Feb. 6, 2009, or the great dating contradiction.

2009-02-06T05:50:00.005-06:00

Men have been fascinating me since kindergarten in so many unique and interesting ways. But, one teensy tic really gets me.
The girls and I went out last Saturday night, and Ella was just returning from a date which was of no major significance. That got us talking about bad dates, as all single, martini drinking ladies are prone to do. Ella told of a date that happened from eharmony.
I met a man at Applebee's for dinner (first yellow flag! All they make is a decent cocktail!) and all was going blandly. Then, he asked me about my worst date ever. Being on a blind date and therefore needing to remain as "vanilla" as possible, I told a harmless story about a broken date in college. Totally fine.
He however told a different story. (This one kills me.) He had met a woman years ago on eharmony (which made me thing about how long this man had been working the online dating circuit.) He went to pick her up at her house and when she answered the door, he was shocked. She was...
FAT! This is where the dude starts gesturing to me, "I mean, HUGE! Like 220! It was disgusting!!! Buuuuut, me being a really nice guy, still let her go on the date with me. We were walking down her driveway to my car, and I just kept thinking 'Oh man, this is bad!' Then I opened the door for her, and when she got in my car the whole thing tilted! I mean, bottomed out! Ha, ha, ha."
I was appalled. I think he was trying to be funny, but I wasn't laughing. He sensed that and got louder and started flinging his arms around like a stand up comedian.
"Yeah, so then, we went out to eat, and man, she was eating and I was grossed out, so halfway through dinner, I just said, this date is over, I am taking you home! Ha!"
He was laughing! So he told me how she started trying to talk to him and figure out what she had done wrong. "I mean she was hilarious, 'What did I doooo, I'm sorry if I offended you, please talk to meeee.' But, no man, I drove in silence and pulled up to her house and she got out. She told me to call her, but yeah, that didn't happen! Ha! I mean do you blame me?!"
Ella just sat in silence. And this is why I love Ella...
"What did you do?"
"I told him that I just realized that he was Baptist and I was Catholic and that this would never work out. Then I got up and left."
Awesome.
"What did he look like? Was he ripped?"
"Oh. No. He was fat."
What the hell is that? Look, I would describe myself as curvy, but some in this world would place me in the fat person category, so I just don't get men who are on that list with me, who hate fat girls. I was once running outside and ran past a Jeep that had these huge tires and a bumper sticker on it that said, "Lift it! Fat chicks can't climb." I rolled my eyes and called the guy an ass, then forgot about it. Until the next week when I saw the guy who walked up to that Jeep and got in. He had to be at least 350.
Jonathan, remember? 5'4" and bumpy? The first thing on the phone he wanted to know about was my weight.
My friend Lisa said it is called the King of Queens complex. Fat men think that they deserve tiny woman to worship their bodies. And 'fat chicks' get whatever's left on Springer.
Ugh.
Next week's SAD: Single Awareness Day. Make your plans!

Until Next Friday,
Pauline

January 30, 2009 or this wasn't planned.

2009-01-29T17:40:00.000-06:00

It was just going to be a date. No, not a date. It was supposed to be a get together. A meeting of a friend.
Who the fuck was I fooling?
I attempted to make a typical morning of coffee, dog walking, Golden Girls and errands. Going out with Jake was not a big deal. At 2 o'clock, I started getting ready.
After much shaving, exfoliating and moisturizing, I strapped on my uniform for a typical date, skinny jeans, purple cardigan, low cut cami and the snake skin shoes. I was going through the motions, but there was this problem. Something was missing. Nerves. I was not nervous at all. Normally, I do about 20 laps around my living room, smoking a cigarette while calling my sisters so that they can talk me down from the ledge.
But this time? Cool as a cucumber. But I was alone on that.
Every 30 minutes, I got a text from Jake.

Hey, is a white shirt weird in January?

Okay, you said 5 pm. Did that mean be at your house at 5 or leave my house at 5? Just checkin.

I'm nervous. Are you nervous? I'm nervous.

It's 3:30, I'm ready. Just letting you know.

You are sure you like seafood? Yea, I'm pretty sure you do. Just checkin. See you at 5.

Unless you want to do a little earlier. Either way. Fine with me.

I'm nervous? Are you? I am.

Jake needed emergency Xanax. I texted him to come over whenever. Why? Well, because I had been ready since 3:30. I smiled. At 4:30, the knock on the door. I fixed my uniform and opened the door.

I could have been wearing a grocery bag and I wouldn't have noticed. He wouldn't have either. We just stared at each other for what might have been 30 seconds, 7 minutes, an hour - who knows? He was there. And then I got nervous. The 6 hour nerve fest snowballed into that moment and I was pretty sure Jake could see my heart through my cami. After I finally broke eye contact, I looked down. At his coat. Corduroy pea coat. Perfect.
My eyes traveled everywhere else, trying to take it all in before he noticed. He looked amazing. He was still this tall, strong, rugged man. His body had kept its lumberjack look. His big, callused hands held a single white rose.
His eyes saw me hit the rose. "I know you hate bouquets, so I'm starting with singles."
He didn't wear glasses anymore, so I could see those soft blue eyes clearly and the small wrinkles around them melted me. He smiled at me staring at him and...oh his smile. It was gorgeous and sweet, and sexy-he grabbed me and hugged me. It was not a hug of politeness, but of - well almost sadness and urgency. I fell into it.
"I missed you."
"Yeah."
Our little dramatic moment was interrupted as Stella frantically tried to make the 6 foot, 1 inch leap to Jake's face for her patented 1,000 licks in 2 seconds kiss and Maggie attempted to shred his pant leg off in her typical Howdy! greeting. I knew how they both felt. He laughed at them as I introduced the gang. Pleasantries and pettings were exchanged; I told Stella she was in charge, and off we went to dinner.
Jake opened my car door and as I passed the door, my right shoulder brushed his torso. Mini-shiver. He popped into the driver's side, and I got a new profile of him. Memories trickled in thinking of our first date a decade ago. Grace and I had spent hours getting me ready with big curled hair, tons of make-up and the perfect silky shirt. Jake had a '89 Mustang with no air conditioning. By the time he had climbed in that time, I had melted in a puddle of sweat, hairspray and foundation. This was much nicer.
He must have read my mind. "Did you know that every time I buy a car, I always ask the dealer if it has air conditioning?"
"All cars have air conditioning now, don't they?"
"Yeah, but I still ask. They always look at me funny, but I remember your face and how panicked you were sweating that night."
Ahhh. good times.
As the car ride, dinner and return car ride fell into place, I was overwhelmed at the ease of it all. It was so natural. The conversation was that of two people that had never stopped talking. The moments of being just caught in a silent stare were tender, but filled with some heat (and I think some background music). When he took my hand in the cold as we walked to the car, I looked at him. And he just said, "It's the way it should be." And he was right. Everything was right - logical. There was no analyzing this and that, hoping for a good blog on Friday. It was me and him. This was comfortable and fun and right.
We came back to my apartment and after the crazed little ones backed off, we settled on the couch...and started-
talking more. More talking! I was glad, but a wee bit disappointed. Most men at this point were trying to plunge down my throat hoping to find the Loch Ness Monster. We couldn't shut up. We babbled on for about 2 hours and then, in the middle of some conversation about some random thing, he just said, "I would like to take this moment to get the first kiss out of the way."
I laughed. "Did you just say, you would lik-"
He kissed me. It was soft and light with the perfect amount of pressure. His hand came up to my cheek (uuuuuuuuuh, I love that) and we were connected for about a minute. And in that minute, something happened to me. It was like Jason Bourne when he remembers about 50 things in 2 seconds. The flashes of memories sweeping one right after the next. I remembered everything. Things I had not even thought of in a decade flooded me. It was because of his lips. It had been so long since I had felt them, but they were the same. I remembered his lips and his kiss and his hands. The next 3 hours were a hazy mix of conversations and kisses. A perfect combination. I was lost. Gone.
Still am. It's over people. I am so freakin' screwed. We have talked every day since Saturday.
I had planned on a get together, a simple meeting of two past friends. How silly of me.

Until Next Friday,
Pauline

January 23, 2009 or big choices

2009-01-23T06:09:00.003-06:00

I done a very bad thing.
Maybe.
Do you know those times and things and people in your life that bring you to a crossroad? Those moments where you don't know if it is right or wrong, this thing (or person) you are about to do, but you DO know that whatever choice you make will affect you permanently. If it is a good choice, your life will flourish and be fulfilled.
And if it is the wrong choice you are fuuucked.
That would be this year for me. I had a feeling there was a crossroad coming. I am looking at houses, wanting to change jobs, deciding to run a 5 K: lots of new things. And then an old thing happened. Well, a person anyway. Grace had called me one night in an ecstatic panic that my ex-boyfriend from college had "facebooked" her. I had dated him eleven years ago when I was 19, and it was a silly, wonderful, dramatic summer romance.
Grace and I laughed that Facebook was insane and how silly it all was, but meanwhile, I was a little jealous. Why had he, Jake, not Facebook stalked me? Why Grace? Did he hate me? I had a fling with him once five years ago when Quinn and I had broken up for a short time, then never spoke to him. In his message to her, he had mentioned that she should tell me "Hi!" from him. That was it.
Big Choice #1:
Fast Forward two weeks. 6 am. I check my email and see a friend request from Jake. "Oh, great," I say aloud. I did not know what to expect from this, and even though I had wanted him to request me, I still felt my stomach turn a little when I saw his picture. What was this turn? Was it nerves, annoyance or hope?
I confirmed him (of course only after going through ever single picture on my profile to make sure I looked fabulous).
Within 2 hours, I had an email from Jake, talking about how my smile had melted him and that the sight of me made his hair stand on end. This was typical Jake. He was never one to mince words about how he felt about me. This stripped honesty was always endearing.
Big Choice #2:
I emailed back. 15 emails later, he gave me his number and told me to call him if I ever wanted to talk.
B.C. #3. I called him. No answer; left my number. He called me Tuesday night. Now, remember I have just gone out with one of the top 50 pricks I have ever met - Jonathan. Aside from Jonathan, men overall have been annoying me in 2009. So when Jake called that night, I picked up begrudgingly.
"Hello?" I asked, still wondering if I wanted to answer, but knowing it was too late.
"Oh my god."
That was it, that is all it took. I was gone. This man, this voice. They were so familiar, but so strange. His voice was deeper, aged, and still raw.
(Pause) I hate talking on the phone. My friends and family know this. There is nothing more annoying to me than someone just calling to say hi, unless it is Grandma. I need a good piece of gossip, an emergency question, or a big announcement. Chatting - not my thing. My phone is completely utilitarian.
"Your voice, it's..."
"I know, yours too."
Suddenly, I am in full conversation with this familiar stranger. There is no awkward beat, no small talk. We jumped into our past, me spilling about Quinn and he spilling about an eerily similar relationship. We talked about religion and philosophy and the mistakes of our pasts and what we have done about it. We talked about who we are now, and reminisced about who we were then. Two hours later, we hung up, both up far beyond our bed times. I took Stella out, brushed my teeth, read 100 pages of a book, and then...laid there.
What am I doing. This is ridiculous. I am 30 years old. I can't be friends with an ex. I can't expect this to be normal! He is...
He is different. Oh, yes, he is still the blue collar boy who can't spell worth a damn and enjoys a UFC match and a cold beer. But, he was different still. He was thoughtful and honest. And he listened. For 3 years I have been listening, struggling for words that didn't piss off a man and didn't bore him either. For three years, I have been biting my tongue, entertaining, being false. A wave of realization hit me. I have been lying to men to be what they wanted. And tonight, I was myself. I wasn't checking the pitch of my voice or giggling intermittently to relay enthusiasm over a red Merlot from 2004. I was listening to him talk about how hard it was to be hired to tear down the Ford plant in Hazelwood. Getting a job because others had lost theirs. He listened as I told him of my year of sin that resulted in finding my faith again.
Oh, yeah, I am so screwed. Part of this is completely illogical. It is wrong and right. No matter what I decide to do with this, I am making a huge decision. Do I realize this is insane and stop it altogether? Try for a mild friendship? Or keep open the idea that he could be special to me?
He called me tonight. Two more hours on the phone. The damn phone! Man! I feel great about talking to him, but know it seems nutty to do so.
He wants to go out Saturday to meet and catch up. He stressed it isn't a date. Just a dinner.
Big Choice #5.
Oh, help help.

Until Next Friday,

Pauline

January 16, 2009 or Date #1 of the year

2009-01-15T06:00:00.004-06:00

Date #1.

Okay, so I bit the bullet and went in search of online love. Again. It is not so much because I am desperate, but more of a bargain hunter. And when Match comes a callin’ with an offer of $10 a month membership, I answer. I can eat and drink $10 worth in a month.

So this week, I came out guns a blazin’. I had a date Tuesday night with a gentleman named Jonathan. I was interested in Jonathan because he did not mess around. He winked, he email, he called and he asked me out in the span of three days. That is what I am talking about. Quick, easy, don’t waste my time. On the phone he seemed nice. There were no red flags, but a few yellows. He kept saying how cute I sounded through my voice. I get that a lot. I must have missed my calling as a phone sex operator. This cute voice thing is not good because they are mentally creating an image of you a la Jenna Jameson and there is no delivering on that promise. Then he also kept saying how tiny I looked in my picture. Short yes. Tiny? Not in my wildest fantasy. No one has ever said, you are so tinyyyyy! To me. I have had a few 'smalls' in my life, but that is it. So I had to keep saying, “Oh, heh heh, I am more currrrvy. Not Tiny. Don’t picture tiny or you will be blown away.” However, it was a pleasant enough conversation, so when he asked me out for the next evening I obliged. No, wait. That is a lie. First he asked me out for Monday night. The same night. I am sitting in workout gear with my bangs sticking straight up and can’t smell too pretty. So I refused that one. Then he agreed to Tuesday. We were going to meet at Robust! the wine bar at 6:30. Deal. I wore my uniform and drive on. Once there, I called him to make sure he was at the door waiting. Hate hate hate walking into the bar and doing the scan. It is a neon sign over your head saying. HELLO ALL! I AM ON AN ONLINE DATE. I HAVE NEVER MET THIS MAN! WISH ME LUCK! I don’t think so. So outside he met me…in a long, gray riding jacket and cashmere scarf. Ladies – agree or disagree – a man’s coat speaks volumes. Agree. Good. He was very well dresses. Too well dressed. I love blue collar, so if a man’s shirt is more expensive than mine, it freaks me out a bit. But he obviously has money. Inside I go.

Once inside (and it is lovely in that bar, Saint Louisisans) we sat at the bar. No. Never sit at the bar. I don’t want to share my date with a bartender. No, wait, another lie, the bartender was smokin’ hot, as was the busboy. But it was awkward, and he could see my belly roll from the side instead of it hiding under the table. He pulls out my stool and we sit down to two wine menus. My friends, I drink wine to get drunk. I drink wine because it is on sale. I have never uttered the statement, “My, you certainly can taste the currants and my floral nose detects a hint of hyacinth.” What the hell? Wine is two things: Sweet and not sweet.

“I like wine, but I don’t know much about it.”

“No problem.”

So I am thinking we are going to go through the menu, which would have been fun. No. He calls over the owner and says (this is true.)

“She wants this Shooting Star. I will have the Pinot.”

“The 3 ounce or 6?

“She wants just the 3; I will take the 6.”

Why do I get less wine? Why do I feel like a stuffed animal that is being talk for by a kid?

And did he ever know the owner! He kept referring to the owner by his first name. “Stanley, this is great.”

“Stanley (ignoring our bartender) we will have two waters, too.

“Thanks Stanley.” Stanley looked annoyed. I looked forward to my wine. BTW, it was sweet with a hint of not sweet.

We sipped our wine and conversation picked up. I started to relax and do the one eye closed...Well, he is slightly attractive face. On his profile he had said he was 5'10" and athletic and toned. In reality, he was about 5'3" and pudgy (to be kind). I did not mind. Until he started looking at my hair.

“Hmmmm.” He said, scanning my crown."

“What? Why are you staring at my head?" Wonder if the busboy is single?

“No, nothing it is just.”

“What?”

“Well, you um, said your hair was light brown, your picture almost looked blonde. And it looked loner in the picture."

“Well I had a hair mishap a month ago. It is a long story. I am still looking for a lawyer to take my case.”

He didn’t laugh. “No, that’s cool. It just is not what you said it was.”

“It was black, it has faded a bit.”

What I wanted to say was: You are a good 7 inches shorter than you stated and you are as athletic and toned as my left ass cheek so let’s not throw stones, alright?

But I was good.

Now, I am red flagging. I am not interested. Don’t criticize my hair. Then he tried to make up for it. “You have great teeth. Your smile is amazing." He is not the first man to do say this to me. Why is that a compliment? And in that order. Teeth, smile. It’s so medical.

Well at least the analyzing was moving south. His mind was going to be blown when he got to my ta-ta's.

“I just want to touch you.”

“Oh, well, that sucks, because I am not a touchy person.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll change that.”

This man does not know me. I am getting mad.

“Well, Jonathan, I doubt that. I just don’t like being touchy on a first date. Or a second, really. I prefer to know the guy.” Yes, another lie. This time two years ago, I would have been sleeping with Jonathon, but 2008 taught me that I want to WANT to touch the man. Not just o through the motion. So this guy was going up against a brick wall.

“So, you fish?”

Yes, I do, my dad was a fisherm-“

“I’ll have to go fishing with him.”

Huh?!

“Well it is could out tonight, and I think he is alslee-“

“No, this summer. I will teach you some golf too.”

Do you even know my name!?!

“No, I am not a golfer.”

“You will be. I will make you one.”

“Sure.”

We finished up our wine, talked Stanley’s ear off a little more and I thought I was done. Jonathan had other ideas.

“Wanna shoot some pool?”

“It’s 9:30.

“One quick game.”

“Deal”

We went to a little dive bar called Double D’s, which I was up my alley. I went in, smelled the cigarette smoke, smiled at a truck and a hippie and felt at home. Jonathon looked douchie in his riding coat and cashmere scarf. That was the slight crook. He asked me what I wanted to drink. Oh, Bud Light. I from Saint Louis, What else would I drink?

No! Don’t drink that! I’ll get us some Stag.

Excuse me mother fucker? Did you just ask me what I wanted then refuse me? Did he just rip on the nectar of the gods? And did he just say Stag? Asshole.

I drank the beer and whipped his ass in pool. This was weird, because I am really bad at pool. I guess the Stag beer brought out the lesbian in me. He was slightly cordial, slightly miffed at the loss. But the hippie enjoyed it.

As we finished our slightly shitty beer, I checked the clock. 10:30. I was going to be in bed in 35 minutes. I was thrilled. I wanted to snuggle up to my little girls and nap for a few hours.

He started kissing me in the freezing cold. I went along with it, until he split my teeth open forcefully with his tongue. Okay. This dude has power and obviously boundary issues. I just wanted to warm up my car. I pulled away, said good night and drive like a bat out of hell.

He called me last night. Really? What do we have to say? I just hung out with you for four long hours. Wait three days. Please.

I have a date next week with a different guy. Wish me luck to find a sane one!

Until Next Friday,
Pauline

December 19, 2008 or I need an intervention.

2008-12-19T09:41:00.002-06:00

I have officially become a Spinster.

Background –

A year ago today I was carousing drunkenly amongst several men I had been set up with through various factions. I was sober 5 hours out of the day and usually was home only to shower and change my high heels.

That was 29. When I wrote the book on how to be a spinster, I had no idea what a good student I would be.

At 30, I have become what I wrote about. Case in point:

-The other night, I had nothing to do because my friend stood me up for Christmas Bingo. To appease my boredom, I threw Stella in the car, went to Petsmart at 8 o’clock and bought her a new pink sweater for Christmas dinner and a chew toy.

-After leaving the store, I stopped at the Hardees drive through and got a Cheeseburger combo meal and a Diet Coke.

-I got my hair cut. Now this is not my fault. I blame my period and the salon for the result. I decided in a moment of weakness that I wanted a) bangs and b) darker hair. She should have stopped me, but the bitch didn’t. Actually, she made it worse. I wanted a “fringy” bang. She gave me the straight across bang which starts at the top of my head, goes all the way to the top of my eyebrows and spans from literally ear to ear. Then my light brown color request as a way of removing my summery highlights was translated into “Make me a vampire!” My hair is black. Those of you that know me in real life know that this is a travesty of monumental proportions. My before picture looks like an after picture – and my after picture looks like a before. “This middle ages woman couldn’t get a date to save her life before…but now that we removed her ugly ass bangs and lightened her Edwardian black hair, and Voila!” After staring at it all night in the mirror, I returned to the salon the next day to have them fix the black. They gave me highlights. Gray highlights. I am not making this up. I look 50 years old.

-I am getting a cat. Stella needs a friend and some kittens I know need good homes. But now I am becoming a crazy cat lady. Buy me a mug and themed jewelry.

-The weather sucks, so I have not ran with Stella in two weeks. Add this to my constant Hardee's runs and I have gained 10 pounds. This is my curse. One cheesecake sends me up a size. So none of my clothes fit except…khakis. And since it is crappy outside – I am wearing my snow boots. Me – walking around in khakis and snow boots. Now I just need a Mickey Mouse sweatshirt to complete my sexless ensemble.

- I have canceled at least three separate holiday occasions because I would rather curl up with a good book by my fireplace than bar hop.

-I hate men. I have no desire to go out with them or wink at them. When Stella and I went to Petsmart - miraculously, a man was loading dog food into his car and looked up and said, "Hi." I said hi back, lowered my head and kept walking. And I did not feel bad about it either.

I need summer…bad.

Until Next Friday when I will probably announce that I'm quitting my job to pursue my dream of being a librarian,

Pauline

December 12, or The Great Penis Search 2008

2008-12-12T10:18:00.003-06:00

Okay, so some readers wanted another Stella picture. So here you go. Some of you will be getting your own copy of this little gem in the mail...get ready to check your mailboxes every hour.

I think my friends and family are worried about me. They are becoming desperate for my sake.

Why do I think this? Because the attempted hook ups are getting weird.

1. My friend Brad wants to hook me up with a guy at his work. He doesn't really know his name. Or really what he looks like. He thinks he might be nice.
But, he's single.

2. My friend Tessa is bringing a single friend of a friend to a Christmas Pub Crawl that we do annually. She doesn't know anything about him. He is a manager, but not at like a Taco Bell, but that is all she knows.
Oh, and he's single.

3. Grace wants to email JC, a radio dj, in the middle of Columbia, Missouri who is cute and funny and ask him if he wants to go out with me. We could be perfect for each other. The major problem? She has never met him. She just "listens to him on the radio everyday." She sent me a YouTube video so I could check him out. (yes I watched him; he is a hottie.) All of this falls under "slight stalker" mode of meeting people.
She thinks he is single.

4. My secretary at work...knows this one woman who has a nephew that-
is single.

That is all that matters at this point. If they are single, throw them in Pauline's path, because apparently, unbeknownst to her, her uterus is shriveling up, she's only getting fatter, and the wrinkles and gray hair aren't going away any time soon. I could care less lately. I have been slipping along through single bliss, concerned only about sex on New Year's Eve. But my troops have been rallying around every single penis they can get their hands on. That came out funny. I will leave it.

Pray for me...it is going to be an ugly next few weeks.

Until Next Friday,

Pauline

December 5, 2008 or one month to go!

2008-12-05T14:32:00.002-06:00

It's the holiday season, and our thoughts turn to snuggling by a warm fire, stroking the hair of our loved one while watching clay-mation movies. I happen to do this with Stella. And that is fine, but she is a dog and tends to snore once she passes out on the couch. So it is with much rejoicing that I announce that Celibate '08 is in its final month. Which begs the question, "Who do I sleep with at 12:01?" I have 30 days to find out. As you can read from the past several posts, I have been lazy in my dating attempts as the rest of my life took over priority. So in 27 days, I will need a man to get on. Here are my suggestions if you find yourself in the same predicament:

STEP 1: Find a man.
You want this to be a man that COULD be a relationship in the making, but if not, you won't die of heartbreak. This is a careful choosing. By sleeping with him on New Years, several things could happen: he could not remember you, he could become a stalker, a best friend or your husband. Therefore you must choose wisely a man that would be okay in any of these categories.
I have three options right now. I met a man, Sean, who has some possibilities. He is successful, has an adorable dog, is very sweet and attractive. Great potential here. His issue is he could be good boyfriend/husband material so I would not want to flush it down a one-night-stand toilet.
Option 2: Matt Damon. No not the real one, but darn close. I was at Bridget's 30th birthday party this weekend and met a man who looked exactly like Matt Damon. His only question is interest in me. I might look like 5 day of roast beef to him for all I know. And I might never see him again. Which makes the sleeping with him part very tricky.
Option 3: Andy. Total blind date possibility. He is also, like Sean, great potential. But can i work fast enough to pass from blind date to overnighter? Tricky.

STEP 2: Forgo clothing.
You have 30 days to get a look. The only sweaters you should be wearing are those that house a cute undershirt. Make sure and remove the sweater as much as possible in the presence of the man. This means finding lots of warm places to hang out so you can go, "Oh, my, I am hot." Remove all chunky books, hoodies, stupid looking hats and scarfs. You need to expose as much neck, shoulder, boob and back as possible this month. Pneumonia probably won't fully develop until January 2, so you should be fine!

STEP 3: Gather your resources.
Get your friends on it! You are more effective as a search party. Find out who has hot neighbors, cousins, coworkers, friends of friends of friends, random strangers they can find for you! I hate hook-ups on a normal basis, but these times are tough. You need all your resources on high alert.

STEP 4: Pick the perfect party
You will need to find a party that involved booze and games. Think back to your teen years - the best parties were those with spin the bottle. Not the best cake or punch, party superlative was based on if you played a game that let you kiss a boy. Grown ups are no different. So look at your evites carefully; study the itineraries and beer possiblities. The higher both are, the better the chances will be at a sleepover.

STEP 5: Beauty doesn't just happen
Make your appointments now. You know the ones.

Good Luck! Until Next Friday,
Pauline

November 28, 2008 or why couples annoy us.

2008-11-24T10:32:00.004-06:00

My couple friends and family. You know I love you. This is not towards you. This is for the strangers of the world. But if you do these things...just know that I am watching. Happy Thanksgiving. Now, please stop doing the following:

Stop the butt touching.
I was in Schnucks grocery store last Thursday night getting ice cream (a monthly requirement) and other essentials . This couple was in front of me the whole time. No matter what I did, they somehow kept getting in front of me in the aisles, the produce section, even at the checkout. And the ENTIRE time, the female kept grabbing the male's ass: in the pocket, out of the pocket, a rub here, a pat there. I felt like I was watching porn as I grabbed my Mac n Cheese. He was unmoved by this, never moving a muscle in response. Really, they did not even talk. It was a silent food hunt with a butt rub. I was enraged and not just because of my period. I was unwittingly invading personal couples time. I hate couples that bring their touching to the public front without any thought to people like me. We lonely masses that have not had sex in over 11 months now and are dying. Your stonewashed jeans are getting more action than my entire body in 2008. Get your damn instant potatoes and get out of here.

Stop the “We” talk.
Once upon a time, you were born a single, independent person. But then you became a couple, and now you are always speaking in the “we” person. You did not have diarrhea today…we did. “We ate eggs this morning, which made have given us the diarrhea, so we were both late for work today and if our stomachs don’t get better, we will not be able to take ourselves to the park for our exercises.”
Now, first of all, this is a mundane conversation at best and really, I wouldn’t not be much more interested if it was spoken in the singular, but why do you have to do everything in terms of Siamese twins? I wish I had a little notebook with marks and slashes for all the times the couples in my world spoke in the we. It would be full.
I am going to start speaking like this when I talk about my day. I will reference everything to myself and Stella. “We ate our food like good girls today, but we needed our Pepto Bismal because we were also a little naughty and got into cat food this weekend. We love cat food. We have a date this weekend with a guy that seems really cool, but we need to lose 10 pounds by Saturday.”

Stop talking about your significant other.
Oh sure if he gets a great job promotion or breaks his leg while biking in a triathlon, that is fine. Let me know. But a cavity? A cavity!?!?! Great, I am so glad your significant other got their oil changed for the first time in 5 months; it really thrills me. But I have some issues that I would like to discuss as well, so if we could wrap that narrative up, that would be great. Thanks.
The thing is, you LOVE this person as a partner, a mate, a friend, a lover. I hang out with them on Sundays to watch football or grab a beer at a pub. The fact that their tie is STILL at the dry cleaners and you can’t understand why - does not interest me. Label me heartless.

Stop talking about the joys if singlehood.
I have stressed this before. But lately, there has been a lot of talk about independence when you are single. But it is not. Sure I come and go as I please, except for being at Stella’s beck and call, but independence is a misnomer. I have one measly income, no one else to do the chores, shopping, dog walking or other daily tasks. I get sick…I am on my own. If there is a holiday, I am dependent on what others are doing first. People don’t come to single girls homes for entertainment. We live in one bedroom apartments with small kitchens and no “entertaining” space. So we must drive to have a social live. We must fill our free time dating, flirting and getting body parts waxed. You want to know what my idea of freedom and independence is? Not having to pluck my eyebrows every week, wearing sweat pants for a night out, and having someone else pay the electric bill. Oh and not having to buy new underwear every month. Stop with the independent talk. We all have chains, yours are just in nicer houses.

Until Next Friday,

Pauline

November 21, 2008

2008-11-21T07:17:00.007-06:00

Sorry about last week. There are 2 weeks where work takes my life and no blog will occur. The next one is March 6th, so begin preparing for that.

This weekend, one of my very good friends is getting married. She represents that last one. If my calculations are correct, I believe that Rachel is the last engaged soul of my gang. Which leaves us divided in the trifecta.
The married, the dating and the spinsters.
I am pretty sure that for the next couple of years, this will be set. Which is fantastic for my gift budget, which has been depleted in the past few years as the second boat men finally proposed to their ladies. But it is rough for my social life. No more open bars. No more electric slides. No more reason to buy that overpriced dress and coordinating shoes.
Even after the wedding, the social lives are distorted. That is why my group usually gives a six month waiting period. If you start dating, get engaged, get married, have a baby or get divorced, you have six months to drop off the face of the earth and be a crazy person. You have the full privileges of bitchiness, disappearance, mood swings, silly smiles on your face and 2 am panic attack phones calls. And for six months we will listen to every conversation you have about your new significant others - good or bad. (This is longer with babies because they are a bit cuter.) Miraculously, they almost all return to the world after six months. If they don't? Well, women know that this is when we start talking about them. You know it!! I wish I could sugar coat it, but I can't. If a person passes the six month mark...they are the subject of gossip. Sorry.
But Rachel is the last for a while. We are strong for a bit, with no disappearances in sight. Sigh..including me, no major dating in the foreseeable future. No sex for another 1 1/2 months. It is the winter slump. Oh, well, I have time to lose 15 pounds. But this is not about me...

Therefore I will raise my glass to Rachel! We will see you in six months!!! And meanwhile, we will party as hard as possible...one last time this year.

Until Next Friday,

Pauline

November 7, 2008

2008-11-06T06:24:00.005-06:00

Look at these questions as a whole:

if you have some time perhaps in your blog, i am wondering why it is that girls always end up with the guy that treat them like shit, it seems as if nice guys do finish last....being a nice guy im wondering why?-jim

Why is it every time you step out of your apartment you get catcalls? I've never gotten a catcall in my life. Where's the love?

Dear Pauline,

I am envious of all the attention you get from men. How can I get men to honk and catcall at me? I need some street love.

Oh, yeah, these people have never met before, I know this for a fact. But they are talking about the same thing. I don't get cat called from nice, kind men that would be great fathers and life partners. I get cat called from unshaven, cigarette dangling from their toothless mouth, overall slinging Hoosiers. And I love it! There is a prehistoric piece of my brain that ravishes the idea of being clubbed over the head and dragged to a cave. Not everyday mind you, but maybe...once a year.

But I do love the good guy Jim, I do. However, the good guy needs to stop feeling sorry for himself and realize that because he is nice and sweet. he has an uphill battle. In my book, How to be a Spinster, I put two checklist in there. One is a list and one a quiz to see if women were dating the nice guy or the bad boy.

Enjoy the read, and take the quiz. See who you are:

Not every jerk qualifies as a legitimate bad boy. This is an exclusive club. Some guys are just losers, and do not possess that animal magnetism which draws women. You can spot these dudes coming, and you cross the street. Women don’t go for rabble without street cred. You have to meet certain strict guidelines to make it into the fraternity. To put it plainly, every bad boy is an asshole, but not ever asshole is a bad boy. If you find that the man you are currently with meets these standards, don’t worry. The maximum amount of time he is going to stick around is a year, and that’s if you are really lucky, or unlucky, depending on how you look at it. He won’t destroy your life, just delay its happiness for a while.
Here we go with our checklist…No, wait. I just love those magazine quizzes that tell you everything and nothing at the same time. So let’s do one now. I will give you a series of questions with three possible answers. Answer truthfully, and then tally up your points at the end.
Question 1.
You and your man have been dating for exactly a month on Saturday. He says he has a big surprise for you. Ends up the surprise is:
a. Actually, he forgot. His mom said she was going to get something for him to give you, but she fell asleep on the couch after lunch.
b. A mix tape of love songs, all with very vague titles: End of the Road, More Than Words, It’s Time for Me to Fly
c. A talking picture frame with a message about how much he really enjoys being with you. He recorded about 15 times to get it right.

Question 2.
You and your man head out to a club with your friends for a kickin’ good time. Over your raised martini glass you see your guy:
a. trying to make out with the bartender, who’s face is masked in disgust like she just smelled a dirty diaper.
b. looking around at beautiful girls as they pass your table. He glances just long enough to make you nervous.
c. talking to the shy awkward friend of your group while glancing at you with a quick smile.

Question Three:
One night, you share your childhood history over a glass of white wine. He says:
a. That he used to really enjoy drowning puppies.
b. That people who he trusted hurt him as a young boy, and it has made it hard to commit to anything, and he wants to trust you, but you will need to prove your love by paying his car payment.
c. Says that he really admires his dad and how he respected and admired his mom, and he hopes to do the same with his wife.

Question Four:
When your guy says he will call you later, later means:
a. Right now, and every five minutes until you change your number.
b. Later has about ten different interpretations: when I get home, when I feel like it, tomorrow, if my date tonight doesn’t pan out, never…
c. After work, when he’s taken a little time to unwind and can really give you some attention and good conversation.

If you answered mostly a’s: Loser. You don’t even want this guy, so hopefully not a single woman who reads this book circled any a’s. Seriously, get counseling if you did.

If you answered mostly b’s: Congratulations, you have a bonafide bad boy. Enjoy…for now.

If you answered mostly c’s: Good man! Good man! Close this book up right now and marry him! See if he has a brother for me!

Are you one of these?

Do you like nice guys or do you have an overwhelming temptation to strangle them? I am going to write out some nice-guy-isms for you. Read them as though the most gorgeous guy in the world is speaking them to you. Personally, I will be picture Christian Bale saying them in his sexy British accent. If, after you finishing reading them, your spine still goes cold and your mouth still fills with spit, you are guilty of hating nice guys and you are screwed. Here we go…
“I want to write a poem and dedicate it to your soul.”

“My hero will always be Mister Rogers. He was a snappy dresser and tried so many new things!”

“I can call you tonight if you would like. I mean unless tomorrow is better, then I can call you then. Or both. Would you like me to call you both tonight and tomorrow? Because I will; whatever makes you happy.”

“Wow, you said your parents were scary, but they seemed to really like me. Maybe we can all go out to dinner this weekend and they can get to know me better.”

“I want to save orphaned orca whales. I just feel it is my calling.”

If you are a nice guy, go out, get a new wardrobe chosen from a girl friend who has style, get a hair cut, a six figure income job (or be a firefighter), a golden retriever, and a Jeep Wrangler. You will be juuuuuust fine.

Until Next Friday,
Pauline

October 31, 2008 or HAPPY HALLOWEEN

2008-10-31T02:51:00.000-05:00

I truly believe this is the holiday of singlehood. Valentine's Day fucks us over every year. Christmas is only good to increase my alcohol and cigarette consumption while sitting alone on my couch watch 70's cartoons rerun over and over, and New Year's is a false single holiday where all our hopes are pinned on 30 seconds of kissing. Usually I just get a peck on the cheek from Lucia. and while she is a little Costa Rican hottie, it always leaves me a little - well - single.
But Halloween? Hell yeah, it was made for horny solos.
Think about it.
Masks - hide identities. You can act crazy in a mask. That is why masquerade balls were invented in the first place. So we could run around like madmen and be anonymous. So I can go to a party in a mask and instead of the normal, wimpy "stare and a smile" (which btw will probably be what next week's bog is on barring any awful blind dates), I can be bold and sidle up to a man, say, "get me a drink cowboy!" and feel no embarrassment or remorse. This works in reverse too. Men are ballsy in a masks. They should wear them every damn day in my opinion.

The costume. I don't like American men right now. I think they are losers. BUT! I love a fireman! So you are a white nerdy guy who works at Best Buy and lives with his mom? Strap on a $30.00 plastic version of a firefighter uniform then maybe, just maybe for 4 hours tonight, you could have me. That is nice. Not everyone wants to date a cranky blog writer, but how about a sassy Alice in Wonderland? (Yes, that is my costume. Stella's costume is the white rabbit. Classic character that every man has fantasized about at some point. Alice, not the rabbit.)

Chocolate and beer: Chocolate raises some hormone in you that makes you happy. And any raise in hormones is good. Especially with an alcohol chaser. This aphrodisiac is perfect for rousing the senses and making all of us look a little better.

It screws couples. Hahah! Its about time! Finally, a holiday where couples are more bored and way more awkward than me! Because they have to dress as a couple. There is nothing cool about being a plug and a socket. Or mustard and ketchup. So they are left looking weird as we hot cops and sexy witches freely flirt throughout the party! They must now rely on their present and future children, and the candy they shall steal from them, to complete this holiday.

There is no "love" in this one. Halloween is about fear, bitterness, anger and hate. This describes a single person perfectly. I don't have to be reminded about cozy nights trading cashmere sweater sets, champagne toasts with arms interlocked, or candy in the shape of everlasting love. It is about scaring the shit out of people and TP'ing houses. Perfect. There is no bonding, no remembering how this year was supposed to be better than last year but next year will be even better. It is just me, a size-too-small costume, booze and fun size candy.

Until Next Friday,
BOO!

Pauline

October 25, 2008 or meh. again.

2008-10-25T17:19:00.007-05:00

Sorry. Thanks for the plea faithful reader. (singular).
So I went to a work related event this morning, which was eventful in two respects.
One-I rode the Saint Louis Metrolink at 7 am and walked a couple of blocks downtown ON A SATURDAY and was propositioned, hooted at (one trucker driving down Broadway actually yelled, "Walk that ass." Apparently this trucker likes 'em 'curvy'), and honked at a lot. Oh, and a firetruck drove by and a fireman STUCK HIS HEAD OUT THE WINDOW AND SAID HI. People, I love firemen.
Why did this happen? I have no idea, but I will be back on that tram next Saturday. Wahoo, what an ego boost right before my period when my body looks like a dumpling.

Two-the RBS syndrome. If you are a texter, you know that rbd means rather be dead. But the new epidemic is rather be single. After reaching my destination, I noticed that while I was a bit pleased with myself for attracting that many hobos and truckers so early in the morning, I was slightly annoyed with them as well. I was talking to two coworkers who are also single and aiming towards 30. We were swapping single stories as tends to happen to me (thus the book). And we all ended our stories with, "Well, I am just realizing that I would rather be single than deal with this shit." And we 3 are not alone. I have several friends that are developing this attitude. The pool of men has gotten so stagnant with little tadpoles that we female swimmers are choosing cold, dry, sexless land.
OOOOH....sexless. Hmmmm.
But really, I love my free time, my dog, my friends, my ability to not have to clean my apartment, my underwear that needs replacing - but what's the rush. All of that is great. But I am also a minor fan of sex. This needs contemplating.

Until Next Friday,

Pauline

October something, 2008 or what a cluster fuck of a week, here have some answers.

2008-10-17T10:38:00.002-05:00

Dear Pauline,This guy will not leave me alone. He sends me emails almost every day. at first I humored him because a friend of mine said he was harmless, and I guess he was only a little irritating in the beginning, but then suddenly topics like 'pornography' and 'whores' started to pepper his frequent emails. I tried ignoring him, and I tried telling him how much he offended me - both lead to even more, longer emails. Plus, I think this jerk is married! How can I get rid of him without going into the witness protection plan?-scared

Well, I am not sure why it is exactly that he started emailing you so that is hard for me to call. I have a policy that is very effective with crazies both professionally and personally. Absolutely no communication. I ignore them. Carpet Layer calls me every Weds. Still. I never respond. Sure, this might seem rude, but shall we look at the alternative? You tried to reason with your current crazy, and what happened? That’s right…more crazy. So I drop them. Being that these are emails, he does not know where you live, work, play? Then block him on emails and move on.

Dear Pauline,Don't you think you are over-compensating about the whole Britney thing? Just because a guy likes Britney doesn't automatically make him gay. She is hot, you know. I think your answer to SOB says more about you than it does about SOB's man trouble. Maybe SOB just doesn't enjoy a little competition. Jealous much?-Britney Rocks!

First of all…I am not jealous of Britney. My boobs would eat hers for breakfast and I sing better. She has me on dancing and #’s of ex-husbands, but it is a pretty even competition.
Secondly, I expect men to want Britney, not love her. The difference is monumental. Btw, I would be happy to throw your coming out party for you.

Pauline,So, what's your stance on loser co-workers who look at porn at work? Especially if they seem to have some sort of diabolical hold on the Boss? I don't want to have to break his knees, but that option is still on the table.Signed,Truly P.O.'d

My stance is over their shoulder, watching too. That is probably where you boss is hanging out by the sound of it.

Dear Pauline,What do you think of people who have other people do their dirty work for them? Seriously, a guy just had his friend break up with me for him!-So Mad I Could Spit!
Hmmm. Um, I prefer to break up with people over email. Love it Love it Love it! Clean and neat.
My advice is to go to the guy’s locker after third period and tell him you are upset about it and they you will never partner skate with him again.
Or have sex with his friend.

Until Next Friday,

Pauline

October 10, 2008 or Ask Pauline!

2008-10-10T06:50:00.004-05:00

What sort of Halloween costume would be good to get (or keep) a guy's attention without being too "pretty woman"? It seems like everything out there is either "I'm an ugly zombie" or "I'm a just barely not naked pirate wench." Where's the happy medium???

Gold star for you contributing reader! This is a great question and I am happy to answer it since it has plagued female party goers since the Catholics stole the crazy night from the pagans. (Those wacky pagans!) I have gone as the proverbial Catholic School Girl before, with much success, if you know what I mean. Nudge, nudge. But I was also a) 22 and a size 6 and b) dressing for Quinn – a specific man.
If you are going to a party with random men as possible one-nighters, the “naughty” blank, is the WORST idea you can have. Here’s why – Yes, this is an instant erection for any man at a party, but you are sure as shit not going to start a conversation with them. Think about it, if a hot man in a Hercules one strapped fur sheath with his strong, sculpted chest bulging out of the top - as his thick but slightly tender thighs jetting from the botto…what are were talking about? Oh, costumes. Yes. Right. Whew. Costumes! So if a hot hunk is walking around, are you really going to go up and start a conversation? No. No you are not. The same goes for a man. Sure, I see Hercules and I have an orgasm standing up but I am not going to have one with him, because I am intimidated and will never speak to him.
At the same time, anything zombie-esque or rotting is bad for obvious reasons. Don’t be manly either, ie, “Look I’m an Indigo Girl!” or “I am a Construction worker.” Couples go to Halloween parties to get out of the house, single people go to Halloween parties to have sex, so, yes, you want to keep that on the forefront of the man’s brain.
So you must choose a costume that doesn’t spell slut, but lets the males in the room know that you have a vagina and other working parts. My suggestions? Go classic with a slightly sexy twist. A witch with a slightly shorter skirt and curl your own hair instead of buying the classic stringy wig. Work the eyes into a smoky feel with a really strong red lip. I also like the flapper, the cheerleader, and the ballerina. All classically girly. Or go for the classic hotties of history…Cleopatra, Helen of Troy, Marilyn Monroe. They worked from millions of men before…

Dear Pauline,
I think this guy is possibly perfect - but (and there's always a but, isn't there?) he's a little obsessed with Britney Spears. Has all the music on his IPod (even the bad stuff), watches the VMAs and shouts encouragment, buys the Star magazines and has that crappy movie on DVD. We watch it at least once a month, and he acts like its Citizen Kane, for God's sake. If I hadn't seen the YouTube clip of that dork sobbing Leave Britney Alone about 50 times by now, I would have thought he was the star himself.
What should I do? Good job, nice guy, decent in the sack. Husband material. Who's obsessed with Britney.
-Sick of Britney

Oh, SOB (Ha, funny that is your name as an abbreviation),
Hey, speaking of Cleopatra…did you know that DeNile is not just a river in Egypt? (My GOD I AM ON FIRE TODAY!)
You are dating a homosexual. In the words of Jerry Seinfeld, “Not that there’s anything wroooonnnng with thaaaat.” I love gay men…just not as my boyfriends. The only reason that men need to want to view Britney is to masturbate. Just saying.
If this guy is husband material, you need to test his hetero. Take him shoe shopping, play some Cher, take him to a film festival and a flea market. If he is bored off his ass at 2 out of the 4, then he is not gay…just crazy. Then you have to decide whether you are into crazy. Personally, I have had my moments with it, so I am not one to judge, but if he agrees happily on your antique excursion and sings along to the CD, you are dating a gay man. Sorry. Keep him as a friend, they are fun as hell.

Thanks for the questions!

Until Next Friday

Pauline

October 3, 2008 or Well, there you go...

2008-09-30T21:30:00.011-05:00

Have you ever drunk Goldschlager? Maybe, but don't remember? Not surprised. It'll do that to ya. Goldschlager is a cinnamon schnapps with flecks of gold in the liquid - which I guess classes it up a bit. I once spent a long night in college playing truth or dare with 2 boys, my roommate, and a gallon of that stuff. I was 17 at the time. Over 13 years later, I can't pass that stuff in the liquor aisle without gagging a bit. I got wasted and developed what psychologist call Taste Aversion.

According to Wikipedia, aka the Greek god of Bullshit:
Conditioned taste aversion occurs when a subject associates the taste of a certain food with symptoms caused by a toxic, spoiled, or poisonous substance. Generally, taste aversion is caused after ingestion of the food causes nausea, sickness, or vomiting. The ability to develop a taste aversion is considered an adaptive trait or survival mechanism that trains the body to avoid poisonous substances (e.g., poisonous berries) before they can cause harm. This association is meant to prevent the consumption of the same substance (or something that tastes similar) in the future, thus avoiding further poisoning.

IE: Me puked all night after drinking metallic booze.

I think I have date aversion. I can easily say that from 2007 to 2008 I have gone on more blind, random, pity and fix up dates than anyone I know. I think total, I have dated 20 men in 14 months. Out of that, 3 were really good, 2 were okay, and the rest fell between tortuous and masochistic. In the past year, going on so many bad dates has made me want avoid dates completely. I get started, but once the date comes to fruition, my hands get clammy, my skin is pasty, and I taste schnapps.
Suddenly men leave a really bad taste in my mouth. (And that isn't even sexual.) I have stood up men, stopped calling men and avoided eye contact with men I might be attracted to. With Ross, apparently, in case you were doing a study, it takes approximately 5 rescheduled dates before a guy gives up tryin'. Yup. Ross. He really did want to go out with me. Unfortunately, when you start putting a date on a back burner, it makes that hard. So the question that needs begging - am I sabotaging my own love life? Wait, let me take that a wee bit further. Do I even know how to do "dating" anymore? Normal dating.

It was clockwork last year. I would match my lingerie, strap on my uniform, straighten the hair, throw on 3 hearty doses of mascara, and out da door I would go. I was in autopilot as I would go on date after date. But now, I just can't even handle it. I would rather sit at home on a Friday night with Stella and watch What Not to Wear. But, this kind of thinking doesn't get you married, pregnant and able to sit at home and write novels instead of working 12 hour days. And since this is my ultimate goal, I need to get back out there. I am just not sure how to go about doing that. Help. I not only need a coffee bean...I need a 2 gallon jug of espresso to cleanse this
f-ing palette!

Ps! Don't forget to Ask Pauline your love questions, or any other questions you have on your mind. I am very knowledgeable about other subjects as well.
Sigh,
Pauline

September 26, 2008 or now I think that I am officially on the downward slide to death.

2008-09-25T20:32:00.005-05:00

Wow. So. Yeah. 30. I am no longer a 29 year old spinster. I am a 30 year old bag of bones and fat that now has to look at 35 year old men and go, "well, yeah, that is ok."

And yet I am dating a 27 year old.

Oh, I said it. 27. And yes, ha ha, he DOES know I am thirty today. Hilarious.

So, Ross is cool. He is a smart aleck with good earning potential and a hot body. I don't know what to say. I like this guy. The problem is that both of us have NO time to go out. We keep rescheduling our dates. And yet...he still calls. Me being an overworked, overscheduled, social butterfly has not intimidated him and made him throw up his hands. And he being the same doesn't bother me.

And I actually want to see him again, even willing to wait 2 weeks to do so, despite it meaning that I am 2 weeks older in between every date.

We are shooting for this week. Readers, I promise that you will know about the date soon...I juuuuust need to have it first.

Until Next Friday,
Pauline

September 19, 2008 questions answered!

2008-09-19T01:00:00.005-05:00

Dear Pauline:Which is a better way to spend any future tax cuts guaranteed by both presidential candidates to get a man:botox or lipo?

Well thank you for the question, my anonymous friend. The Answer to your question is...NEITHER! Spend the money on Baseball/Football season tickets. You have a guaranteed date once a week, and men will flock to you.

Dear Pauline: Will starting a blog help or hurt my dating life? Signed,Blogless and Wondering As long as you don't tell the guy you are blogging. Change their names all you want...they know who they are. Don't even get me started - Ethan. Now... Feel free to blog about nature or philosophical shit all you want. Dating? Keep it on the DL.

Dear Pauline:Is dating a guy with kids a bad thing, or a really bad thing? -He Asked First There is nothing wrong with men with kids. It is men that ARE KIDS with kids. Men who are daddies might see you as a nice, barren, one-nighter that will let them forget that once upon a time they tried to be a big boy and failed miserably. If a man has kids, proceed with caution - don't come on too fast, they will run. And whatever you do ----DO NOT SLEEP WITH THEM! 1. They are obviously fertile turtles and 2. You are basically a free ho that helps them stay a Peter Pan.

Dear Pauline:Is dating during the football season an exercise in pointlessness, or the best way to troll for drunken men at tailgate parties?And does it matter if they're married? Signed,Cheerleaderless
Yeah! So I went to the Mizzou game last week and am going again this weekend. I had a mini-fantasy where I would be casually tossing the pig skin around with a group of single men straight out of an American Eagle catalog. The reality? All married with huge gold wedding bands cracking lame ass jokes while their pregnant wives complained about the uncomfortable chairs. I just got wasted...and then threw the football very, very badly. It got ugly. I digress...Troll tailgates all you want - single men are dead and the married men are douche bags.

Dear Pauline:So how's that whole celibacy thing going? Should I try it?
This person obviously knows me. FYI my stranger readers - On January 1st, 2008, I started CELIBATE '08. I am spending the year detoxing from sex because 2007 was a very very very bad year. Luckily for me, every man I have wanted/dated this year has been a disaster (see old blogs) so this is a non issue. But, I am dying. I see sex everywhere! My maintenance man rides by in his little gator tractor and I am tempted to chase it, catch it, get naked, and rock his world on the bench seat. Gabe has been fixing my computer a lot this week and I just stand there and, without realizing it, stare straight at his crotch. He's caught me at least 4 times. He blushes - I growl. It gets awkward. I say try it. I am enjoying the freedom I have by not focusing on sex solely. But, given a true opportunity, I would knock it with a hottie in a heart beat.

Dear Pauline:Where the hell are all the nice guys? I thought that you would have weeded out all the weirdos and that something good will be left over.but no.If you can't eliminate the losers, how am I going to find a good one!?
Easy. Lesbianism.

Dear Pauline:Would you date someone of a different political party? How?
Both my sisters have married Republicans. They are pretty normal, I guess. Hell - at this point I would date a caveman. I think I actually did this summer.

Great questions readers! I look forward to another installme- Wait, what!? You want to know who this nice guy is that I went out with last week? Too bad. We have a second date on Sunday evening. He is planning everything. You will have to wait until next Friday...

Go Tigers!

Pauline

September 12, 2008 or MIZ

2008-09-11T20:30:00.002-05:00

I got nuthin'. Dry Spell.
Well, I did go on a date Tuesday night. But he wasn't a douche bag. On the contrary - he was nice and normal, and we might go out again.
Maybe. I am waiting. The wait. And he is so freakin' normal, that he is either never going to talk to me again, or he is actually going to wait 3 days to call me. Seriously.
Oh, and I met my husband at church on Sunday. No, I didn't talk to him, but our eyes did meet, and I did hear choirs of angels singing - that is pretty much a given that we shall marry.
I seem to get honked out by every damn trucker that passes me while I am walking Stella.
No, but other than that...pretty dry week. Sorry folks.

Until Next Friday, when I am sure the madness will start again,

Pauline

September 5, 2008 or Stella's ad

2008-09-05T21:14:00.002-05:00

Please pardon this random bloggin'. I saw a hilarious looking dog that might be Stella's new love. It is on a really cool blog: http://canyouhearthebirdssing.blogspot.com/

So I am putting up a personals ad for Stella in case this puppy's owner wants to see if they are a "match."

Humor me...It is Friday night, I am dateless and the carpet layer keeps calling me.

Name: Stella

Age: 1 year...maybe - I have no teeth and can't talk so they can't tell how old I am. I act like a puppy!

Likes: Mommy's shoes, pumpkin, Petco, walks in the park, car rides, McDonald's french fries, stealing things, everybody and everything.

Dislikes: Baths, allergies, motorcycles, when my tongue gets dry from always hanging out of my mouth.

How do you spend your leisure time?: I like to sit on the back of the chair and look out the window at all the Indians that live near us. I like them. I sniff around the house a lot. Go for walks and runs and hikes, sleep, practice my tricks, go with Mommy to friends' houses and parties, and shop til I drop at PetCo. I do it all.

Dreams for the Future: Grow some teeth, see all my doggie cousins soon, get my doctorate.

What Stella is looking for in a partner: Kisses, minimal booty sniffing, plays with me all the time, share my blankie.

People, I seriously need a man.

Until Next Friday,

Pauline

September 5, 2008 or the cop out

2008-09-05T01:00:00.002-05:00

I copped out. I couldn't do it. I tried for you. I almost dated the carpet guy.
But, at 5 o'clock in the evening, I still did not know what we were doing at 7 o'clock. Every time he called - oh, and I mean every time- all he would say was, "Hey, yo, we still good for Friday?"
"Yeah, sounds cool. What are we doing?"
"Dunno, I just wanted to call you and see if we were still on. I will figure out something and holla at you later, cool, girl?"
"Uh, cool."
This conversation went on all week. I am busy girl. If it takes 40 phone calls, 30 missed calls and 20 texts to grab a beer, my life can't handle it. It needs to be easier.
So we are back (yet again) to square one.

A friend is wanting to hook me up with her friend. We shall see. I am not holding my breath.

As suggested by a reader, I am starting a new blog option: Ask Pauline (if you have a catchy name, I am open.) If people have dating, men, women, relationship, marriage questions, throw them at me. I will answer them. I may be wrong and lead you to a path of loneliness, but, hey, give a girl a shot. Hell, I'll answer any question. I'm a smart girl.
Just drop the question in the comment bin. The answer will magically appear on that Friday's blog.

August 29, 2008 or the Concession

2008-08-29T01:00:00.002-05:00

Something tragic has happened to my single friends and me. Not sure when this sad event started, but it has taken a grip on all of us women that are over 27. The concession.
When I was 16 years old I was one of the pickiest girls I knew. I once broke up with a boy because his jeans were too faded. No. Really.
There was one girl actually worse than anyone - Myra. Myra is actually quoted as saying, "He's perfect and everything, it's just that his ear lobes are crooked. How can I live with that?"
Carolina once dated a guy who looked JUST like Tom Cruise (young Cruise - not crazy Cruise.) She broke up with him because he was only 3 inches taller than her. She couldn't wear heels.
Something has happened to us. This is a true story.
I recently went out on a great girls night with 4 of my close ladies, Myra, Carolina, Abby, and Kennley. While dining on yummy make-your-own-stir fry, we started having these mini-conversations. It started with my upcoming date with Chris. (Oh, when? Tonight. I am not looking forward to it, more on that next week.)
But I was describing Chris.
"He's a Carpet guy."
"Well, at least he has a job."
"No, no, I know. That's true. He's got 2 kids."
"Was he married?"
"Don't know."
"Doesn't matter. People make mistakes."
"Right. Mistakes."
'What does he look like?"
"He's bald, with eyebrows."
"Eyebrows are good. So he is cute?"
"Yeah, he's cute. I mean he's got a giant Satan tattoo on his leg."
"Well, maybe your tattoo can attack his." (I have a Bible verse on my back)
"He's got a nice body, I mean it was hard to really tell under the stained tee shirt and white Dickey jeans, but he would have to, right?"
"Well, even if not, I mean, its okay, right?"
"Sure."
I shifted the subject to Myra, who started talking about her new man, Adam.
"So what is he like?"
"Fine, I guess. I mean, he...never mind."
"You can't say things like that! Tell us."
"He's got this tick. He, um, clicks."
"I don't get it."
"His tongue. It clicks every 10 seconds."
"You count?"
"You wouldn't?"
Myra went on to describe that Adam not only had mild Tourette's, but also had a chipped tooth and one leg was longer than the other. Much longer.
I was in tears, and the tables next to us were staring at us while we howled with laughter. Myra was not amused.
"Shut up! He is smart, has a great job and is sweet!"
And I agree. I am not trying to be bitchy, so save the holier-than-thou emails about loving someone just the way they are. You know who says that? Married People...they can say anything they want because they are not in the thick of it. I am not saying that people with flaws are not lovable. I have flaws. My front tooth was chipped when I was 8 and part of it is fake. I have no chin, really, and I weigh more than most 14 year old boys.
What I am laughing at is the concession. We used to be so freakin picky, but with the 3rd boat (see the blog a few weeks back), it is first come, first serve. As we get older the shift from the closed box of a perfect man becomes more like a recycle bin. We won't take...oh hell, throw it in, we will sift through it later. Staples- fine, cardboard - okay, clothing- what the hell, give it to me.

Until Next Friday,

Pauline

August 22, 2008 or this has got to be a joke.

2008-08-22T01:34:00.005-05:00

Oftentimes people ask me if my stories are "embellished" or "true to life." Well, I can't say everything is true. I have to have anonymity for myself and those around me, so I change some facts. But, the stories are real. I mention this, because if you had ever doubted me, this story would surely convince you that I am a pathological liar.

I promise. Everything I am about to tell you is true.

Sunday with Grant was a disaster. And I was not joking when I said that men needed to stay away from me on Monday. I truly have never hated men as much as I did that day. Which makes this story even more ridiculous.

I am in a band. No, no. It is not a big deal. Actually it is terribly absurd and embarrassing. A couple people at my job got together to play at a big company wide function. They needed a female lead vocal. That is where I come in. And to practice I came in with no makeup, dirty jeans a ratty tee, and a pony tail. Not pretty.

I show up to the jam session, where they are also laying carpet. So, on a day when I truly, truly hate men, I am alone in a sea of 20 of them. In the band are two single guys. They seemed to be competing for me. If the story ended here, then I would go into more detail about this penis jousting, but we need to move on.

We were singing I'm a Believer. (Shut up Tessa. Stop laughing. I know it is corny.) No one wanted a big solo at the end, so I volunteered. When I stood up from my stool, the carpet layers stopped work, looked up, and started wolf whistling and cat calling. I was just scowling - my jaw tightening as I mentally castrated all of them.

I sang my solo and left the men battling some caveman game.

That was Monday.

Tuesday-

I walk into work and am stopped by a carpet layer, Chris.

"Hey, you were in the band yesterday, right?"

"Haha, I guess you could say that."

"Well, you were great. I loved listening to you. Loved watching you more."

"Haha, uh, yeah, well."

I went inside. Where an electrician was working outside of my office.

Did I mention that I am still mad at men? No? Oh, I am.

The electrician sees me, comes into my room, and starts talking. This last for about 15 min. He's cute, but I am not paying much attention.

He leaves; I run to get a cup of coffee. As I am leaving my office, Chris (carpet layer) comes up to me.

"You got change for a five?"
"No, sorry."
"Oh, that's cool. How 'bout a boyfriend?"
"No. sorry."
"I wondered if I could get your number and take you out sometime."
"Are you serious? Um, yeah that's cool."

What the hell? I got a blog to maintain. Take one for the team.

I give Chris my number (yes, my real one) and walk away as his buddies start teasing him. I walk past the office of one of my new band mates and hear, "Pauline Friday!"

I peeked my head in and greet Greg. Greg is the male lead vocal and guitar player in the band. The day before he was flirting heavily, insisting that I stand and sing next to him, and ripping on the other guys. So I should not have been shocked when he said, "We should hang out sometime."

"That would be cool." (Hell, I will drink a beer with anyone.)
"Really? Great, give me your number."
In ten minutes, I gave my number to two men. Two men I hate at this point. I have issues.

Then, I returned to my office and the electrician starts chatting with me. I go outside and start flirting back, figuring I might as well embrace men, since they did not seem to be going anywhere. He starts asking me personal questions like what I did when I wasn't at work, etc. Then Chris pops out of the "gig" room, and says, "Back off dude, I already got her number."

'Oh, well shit." The electrician looked at me and said. Then he turned away.

I left work in a daze. I had just been rejected by Grant and was low. Low Low Low. And suddenly I had all of these men chasing me. I got in my car, looked to heaven and said, "Oh, you are hilllllarious."

God didn't answer back. Its fine. He'll get back to me.

I came home and Greg has called me twice before 5 o'clock. The third time, I decided to pick up. I shouldn't have. He is 40, divorced twice, has three kids, and lives in a cabin in the backyard of a co worker. No. This is not my knight. "Tell me everything there is to know about Pauline Friday."
So, I became the most boring person in the world. "Yeah, I don't do anything, or hang out. I have no hobbies. No friends. Blah."

I don't think it worked. Because the next day, I got to practice at 6:30 in the morning. As we ran through the set, Greg kept inserting my name into the songs. "Then I saw Pauline's Faaaaaaace, now I'm a believeeeeeer." Our performance was at 8 that morning for the big presentation. At 7:59, as the curtain is opening, Greg calls to me, "Hey, come here I need to talk to you for a second."

I go. Behind the curtain he is standing at.
And he grabs me, and tries to open mouth kiss me.
I don't make things up. I really don't.

I turned my head and on my lower left jaw, I got a tongue-filled, sloppy, wet, dog kiss. "Good luck baby." He whispered.
Like a statue, I walked back on stage, and started singing. I can only imagine what my face looked like. I felt like I had just been stung by a bee. A soaking wet, tepid bee.

After the second song, Greg looks at me, "Dinner? Thursday?"
"Um, I am busy."

Forever. I am busy forever.

He called twice that night. I didn't pick up. duh.

So you know today we had a big meeting, and I was grouped with him. Like a dog who peed on his carpet, I avoided eye contact all day. Maybe he won't see me, if I don't look at him.

Chris has called me a couple times. We are going out next week. I am working on the electrician. Please...I just can't say no to the blue collar. Sue me.

Until Next Friday,

Pauline.

August 18, 2008 or wtf.

2008-08-17T23:05:00.006-05:00

I enjoy writing this blog. But, I might have to stop writing about my dating life.
Because I am ready to kill everyone with a penis. And that makes it hard to date.
I liked Grant. I really did. And Grant liked me. He realllly did. So that is what makes this so...strange.
Grant came to my house at 10 am today. We talked for a little bit as he met Stella and she licked his toes (that's how she rolls). He was there, looking adorable in his simple polo and jeans. Then, since he does not live here, I decided that he, of course had to hit The Arch. We laughed all the way to the river. Walked the riverfront talking and belly laughing - our arms slightly grazing. Mine and his beautiful forearm, touching. It was only 75 degrees, but I was melting. The Arch was a blast, mainly because he was there with me. In the little tram that took us to the top, our legs mingled as I pictured us frolicking in less cloistered, albeit sweatier circumstances. After enjoying the 600+ ft love ride, we hit the Landing for lunch and a Cards game. Everything was going swimmingly. So swimmingly that we went back to my apartment.
And then aliens took this amazing man away while I walked Stella. When I opened the door and came back in, there sat a man who was quiet, distant and completely uninterested. What could have happened in a single puppy potty break, I will never know. But he just sat there. For an hour and a half, I struggled with self conversation and a reeling brain as this lump of man just sat there watching Olympic volleyball. Volleyball!!! Who likes that better than a good make out session. With me? I'm fun!
Then...here we go...he decides he needs to drive back...to do laundry.
As he is getting ready to leave, I say, "Well, I hope that it was worth the drive."
"Yes, I loved seeing the Arch."
"Oh, heh heh, and me?"
"Look." This is never a good sentence starter. "I just have a lot on my mind. And I just need to, I don't know. It is just that, well...I don't know. But, I need to figure some stuff out." No. Not good at all.
"Okay, well, I hope, that..."
"Look, I think I need to go, and we should hug to make this less awkward."
What? WHAT THE FUCK PEOPLE? I turned down, like, three date offers to feel better about going out with Grant. I shaved my legs. I vacuumed my car. I LIT CANDLES IN MY APARTMENT FOR 3 DAYS SO IT SMELLED LIKE MELON!
So there. I had a great date with a bipolar weirdo who decided after my dog pooped that I was not the one for him.
If you are the proud owner of a penis - stay away from me for at least a week.

Until Next Friday,

Pauline