a rainy day smile.

clif notes for men. volume one.

Men. Can’t live with them, can’t live without them. I have had a real onslaught of emails and calls from girlfriends who are having more and more difficulties with their significant others so I thought I’d jot down a few tips for the average man to use as a Clif notes guide on how to not fuck up. I went with five this time around though you ladies know, this list could go to Beijing and back….just like a list like this could go out to us girls. We ain’t too proud. But I’m a girl and this is my blog so suck it if you don’t like it.

Print these out if necessary and hand them to your man, ladies. Men, do you part and be proactive here; take these to heart.

1) Don’t have double standards. If you can joke about certain topics, so can your woman. If you like her big ol’ bootie, she can poke at your sweet, soft belly. If you joke about being the perpetual bachelor and getting the milk for free, don’t be angry when she pretends to hold her breath for a ring when you walk by her favorite jewelry store. Don’t blow money on video games and shots and cuss her out when she sends a pretty penny on a pair of (too expensive) shoes. Everyone sucks at life, or working out, or being un-insane sometimes. Cut each other a break.

2) Don’t set precedents you will never maintain. Don’t set up elaborate surprises and sweet gestures at the beginning of your relationship if you are never going to do them after the 3 month threshold of romantic notions. Don’t take out the garbage before it gets full for a month then get lazy and leave it to start your very own landfill in the corner of the kitchen. And perhaps the most important precedent to maintain…

3) If you can’t be faithful, don’t pretend you’re capable at the beginning. Monogamy can be difficult for some, and that’s fine; we can respect that. And I understand if you come into the relationship with faithfulness and best intention in mind. But if you lose your shit and can’t keep it in your hot little pants, don’t fucking date us. If you know it is our intention to be monogamous and to love you and only you and you violate that trust, I hope you enjoyed your (nasty, slutty, infested) penis while it lasted.

4) Do some things you aren’t that fond of for your lady. Slow dance with her. Give her compliments when she fishes for them. Buy the tampons on your way home from work and mind her purse when she dances at the club. If she doesn’t already treat you right, you will be paid back hundred fold with steaks and BJs. Believe me.

5) About Compliments: Don’t piggyback. Coming up with an original compliment when she comes down the stairs looking good or when she chooses and outfit that compliments here breasties/hynie/feature of your choosing, tell her so. Its not as special if you say something right after we compliment you. “I like that shirt on you, baby,” followed by an, “I like your shirt too,” is seriously, epically lame. Effort is the name of the game, fools. Piggybacking is the MO of flattery scrubs. Be creative. There is something unique and original about your lady; that’s why you’re with her. Bring it up to remind her that she is special and she deserves more than a pathetic coattail compliment.

That’s all my pretty little fingers can type right now. I am meeting a girlfriend for lunch, to, surprise, probably bitch about guys and life and work some more. Stay tuned. I intend on posting more this afternoon.

amen.

i want a boring sex life and love handles!

This is what I tell myself to go to sleep at night.

Just got a gorgeous photo album of my good friend Queso’s wedding from a few weeks ago and just got wind from MySpace that another good friend, Leslie, back home in Ohio is officially engaged to be married in January.

With all this information, that makes fourteen, count them, fourteen couples I know either in close relationships or close proximity to me, that are newly married or engaged to be married. I have posted about this before and don’t get me wrong. I couldn’t even BE any happier for my awesome friends and coworkers tying the knot. But it is becoming more and more frustrating and I am becoming more and more impatient to have the big day for myself.

Now I don’t want the, “don’t force him,” “It’ll happen” bullshit. I just believe that if you want it to happen, if you have it figured out financially or not - if your heart wants to, you figure it out. If you don’t, you don’t. And I am so afraid that that is the case. When we aren’t having great times and he isn’t busy doing nice things for me, this is what I think about. That the SM is scared to get married, that his past experiences have convinced him that the institution of marriage isn’t something for him.

Again…don’t get me wrong - I am not tired of hearing how happy and excited my friends are, preparing for such a big day. I am just so tired of crying over the gorgeous, breathtaking pictures of my best friends on a fucking beach somewhere, gazing into their soulmate’s eyes as the sunsets in the distance over the waves. I’m sick of seeing all my friends parents dressed up and crying, seeing their babies make families of their own. I’m sick of people complaining about how its so hard to pick out bridesmaids dresses and what kind of cake topper to have. I’m tired of it because I want to have those fucking problems!

I want to forget the bird cage for the cards! I want to worry about the flowers being right! I want to diet to fit into the most gorgeous white dress I can find but that is just a centimeter too small for me. I want to see big crocodile tears fall from my daddy’s eyes while we dance to our last dance together. Girls dream about this their whole lives and I am so infinitely confident that I have found the man that I want to spend the rest of my life with. Why can’t it just happen already?!?!?

feedback.

Need your ideas to spice up a strip tease.  Leave ideas after the jump.

evidently I am a prude.

Because I am a classy, procrastinating lady, I took a short quiz online today to see where I rank as far as my promiscuity according to other people my age, sex and general geographic area. I don’t know if I should be surprised at the statistics or not.  I didn’t think I was a big ho, but now I know for sure, I am not.

The Results
You have slept with 10 less people than the average 28 year old female.

Detailed Breakdown of How You Compare

Demographic	Average number	Your Number	Difference
Everyone	8	4	4 less than average
Men	8	4	4 less than average
Women	9	4	5 less than average
28 year olds	11	4	7 less than average
28 year old males	10	4	6 less than average
28 year old females	14	4	10 less than average
People from Charlotte	9	4	5 less than average
Charlotte males	9	4	5 less than average
Charlotte females	8	4	4 less than average
28 year old females from Charlotte	16	4	12 less than average
People from North Carolina	8	4	4 less than average
Men from North Carolina	8	4	4 less than average
Women from North Carolina	8	4	4 less than average
People from United States	9	4	5 less than average

burfday weekend: day 1.

So yesterday, my real birthday, started off the “weekend” pretty well.  work went by as quickly as one could expect, and my mom’s plane got here in one piece, so that was totally boss.

We headed home, got freshened up and headed to the Rusty Rudder…a fun, chill place up on Lake Norman.  We ordered some crab dip and a load of coronas and chatted it up.  Some fish tacos and a good buzz later, we headed back home only to realize how totally exhausted we all were.  But before we could crash, the SM gave me my presents.  He was torn between a few things for my big gift, so he said we’d get it together and that is totally fine with me.  But I got a rashguard for surfing, a few DVDs; John From Cincinnati (the show on HBO), PS I Love You and the whole Beatles Anthology. All totally awesome and much appreciated.  now I can just hope for some more fun times, good conversations and some nookie later on.  I can’t be going my whole birthday without wearing my birthday suit.

We watched a little Ghost Hunters on Sci-Fi and by that time, it was time to go to sleep.  Nice, chill….but pretty mundane first day of what may turn out to be a pretty epic weekend.  I guess we were just saving up all of our energy for the rest of my mom’s stay and the karaoke shenanigans tomorrow night.

whatever happened to…

…me getting like a thousand hits a day? C’mon playas! Help a sister out!

charleston: we love you.

So we’re finally back from Charleston. I have missed you, my adoring public. In all seriousness, that is about all I have missed. Softball, yeah….friends, of course….but both the SM and I are in desperate withdrawal from the soft sand between our toes, salty sea smell in our noses and surfboards under our bare feet.

The week was fantastic. Barring a few breakdowns by some members of our party (all of us had at least one meltdown) we had a great time. It’s hard to coordinate and accommodate the plans for five adults and a toddler for a whole week. But we got some shopping in, a good day doing historically significant activities visiting Ft. Sumter and taking a carriage ride…and we all got our share of sun. We put the brother-in-law’s new margarita machine to good use and ate enough seafood for a small country. We did manage to cook a good bit at the house we rented too, which saved loads of money. We also managed to have some risque sweet luv-makin’ as well.

The Punk loved the water this time around too. Our last trip, she was scared and pretty much steered clear of the waves, but this time, she was all about it.

The SM and I took surf lessons and both managed to get up several times. The instructor told us before we even started that once you get up once, you want to do it again…you get up twice and it’s in your blood…you get up three times, and it changes your life. I took his surf-hippy wisdom with a grain of salt, but by the end of my first lesson, we went back to the house to eat lunch and the SM and I bother were online, shopping boards and gear.

I came back with a pretty respectable tan for an Irish girl, a new dress for the 5712 weddings I am going this summer, a pair of shoes and surfing pumping in my veins. I love Charlotte; it’s a great town for young folks like us and it’s growing exponentially. It’s an exciting place to live. But I miss the history of living in an already-established town (like Cleveland, Columbus, Charleston). I miss the beach. I miss the culture of an established city. I miss surfing and sand and the breeze. I miss the warming sun on my freckles when the sunroof is open and letting the ray bounce off my shoulders.

The SM and I are throwing around the idea of going down there even more often when the weather is cooperating…and maybe even someday calling Charleston home. For whatever reason, when we visit that city, we feel like we’re already at home. The crash of the waves against the beach is the soundtrack to our lives. The smell of sunscreen and brine is the sweet perfume. Charleston is like the forbidden woman of an exotic affair that we can only rendezvous with but a few times a year. She is intoxicating and we cannot wait to get back.

the arsenal.

A lot of folks have asked about the “arsenal” that I acquired last weekend at the Pure Romance party.  Unfortunately, due to the profound stress I have felt from my new job, long hours, lots of softball and little restorative sleep, I haven’t gotten much use out of it.  It’s absolutely tragic.  This week, however, I fully anticipate some substantive action.  Even if I have to wrestle my old man and we fall asleep mid-bang.

I have used some of the stuff on myself…just to try it out and I’ve enjoyed what I have played with so far.  Part of the issue too is that I haven’t had time, or remembered to buy a truckload of batteries for all this stuff.  Maybe I should buy stock in Energizer.  All I know is I gotta lube something up this week.  Before I go nuts.