Wednesday, October 12, 2011

The Rules

And so it begins: my foray back into the dating world. It has been twenty-plus years since I've been on a date, and as a courtesy to 1) all the guys lining up to ask me out on dates *that was a joke*, and 2) my friends (hopefully) trying to set me up on dates, I've come up with a list of rules. Without further ado, and after Level One, in no particular order:

The Rules: Level One
Thanks to my friend, Bridgette, for this part of the list.

Any guy hoping to take me out on a date should:
1. have a mouth full of teeth.
2. have a full-time job.
3. not live with his parents.
4. have a sense of humor (but I'm not kidding about those first three rules).

Made it this far? Let's move on to Level Two.

Any guy meeting the Level One requirements can proceed with date plans if:
1. he is still considerably taller than I am even when I am wearing my highest heels.
2. he is at least as smart as I am; I don't want to date someone I have to explain a lot to.
3. he is social without being a party animal or bar fly.
4. he is a non-smoker.
5. he enjoys participating in physical activities that are not sex.
6. he thinks learning is a lifetime activity, not limited to "school years."
7. he is a smart dresser, and has an overall awesome sense of style.
8. he will indulge my inner fashionista with approving looks and compliments.
9. he recognizes that my pickiness extends beyond food and date choices.
10. he understands that no one can out-Martha Stewart me, except for Martha Stewart.

Still with me? You've reached Level Three, Potential Prince Charming.

My Best New Boyfriend will:
1. not buy me chocolate; he will be well-versed in my candy likes and dislikes. The list is long, friends. SO long.
2. understand that sometimes I can swear like a dirty, dirty sailor. Not usually done in public, though.
3. never interrupt a viewing of Project Runway, nor will he argue that Clinton and Stacey from What Not To Wear aren't my friends. Because, oh yes, they ARE my friends.
4. be kind and considerate and not afraid of a little PDA from time to time.
5. give awesome gifts. (Side note: one year for Christmas I received a box that contained a roll of toilet paper, a can of Lysol spray, and a bottle of raspberry-flavored vodka. The piece of paper inside the box said: "Thanks for putting up with my shit. The vodka is to help you forget." I am NOT making that up. Also, I hate raspberry-flavored vodka.)
6. give awesome back/shoulder/leg rubs without complaint, and with the right amount of pressure.
7. be well-versed in popular culture, will enjoy it, and will play bar trivia with me if that's what I would like to do.
8. will love music. Bonus points for being able to play a musical instrument. (However, if you are a "professional musician," you didn't even make it past Level One- why are you still hanging around? Unless you are my skanky boyfriend, Tommy Lee, in which case...)
9. understand that my friends are very much a part of whom I call "family," and that I love my family no matter how crazy they seem.
10. know that a room-temperature Coca-Cola Classic, Lay's Original potato chips, and pink-frosted Loft House cookies are the best & quickest way to my heart.

Now if you'll excuse me, I've got to go set up the velvet ropes for the masses. ;o)

Sunday, October 2, 2011

Here We Go Again...

The past few nights I've had super clear dreams; the one last night had me waking up at 4 am, sweating up a storm (!!!).  Anyway, check 'em out:

Thursday night's dream starts with me walking down a street/city block.  It kinda looks like the downtown where I live now, but the sky is white, like a backdrop, and the whole place has the vibe of a movie set - or a cartoon storyboard- rather than an actual street.  I'm walking with someone (don't see who), when one of those Schwinn Sting Ray bikes zooms up to us out of nowhere and skids to a stop on the sidewalk, blocking our way.

The person riding the bike is none other than my high school friend, Teenie.  Her hair is kinky and wild, her eyes are wild, she is grinning wild and breathing hard.  She is wearing acid washed jeans, a hot pink long sleeved mock turtleneck top with a red boat-necked blouse over it; the red blouse has white paint splattered on it, like she was actually painting in it (not as a fashion statement), and the whole thing is cinched with a narrow white belt; her shoes are classic white Keds.  I look her up and down, and start chastising her:  "Oh, no.  This is all wrong. You can't go to work like this! You can't let your students see you like this!"  Teenie looks at me, still breathing hard, and shrugs "Why not?"  Me:  "You look tacky."  She shrugs again and starts riding her bike along side me & my still unknown companion. We end up at an outdoor wedding reception where my sister Megs shows up out of nowhere and asks me,"How do you like my dress?" I look at her, horrified, because it is a hot pink dress I wore as a bridesmaid back in the early 1990's:  puffy, shirred short sleeves; sweetheart neckline; fitted bodice with a "v" seam in front where it meets the full (but not puffy) skirt; the hem of the skirt is tea length in front, and full length in back.  Of course, there were Dyables shoes to match.  I look at my companion, and say "What the...???"  I never do see who my companion is.

Saturday night's dream followed a lovely evening at an Oktoberfest party.  The night was crisp, and quintessentially Autumnal.  I was home and in bed by midnight, but alas, my sweet slumber was interrupted by...another sex dream.

This is getting old. :o/

This one was pretty graphic, with actual nudity and everything. I do mean Everything. So, yes, I'm one of the naked people gettin' all jiggy with it, and I can see my partner from the start this time. The. Entire. Time. You guessed it: it's Shall Remain Nameless.
Whhooooaaaaaa, mama! I woke up physically sweating, saying out loud to myself, in the dark of my bedroom, at 4am, "That. Was. Intense." Phases of the moon? Phase of my life? A passing phase? Too much beer? I mean, I almost thought that it was a hot flash, but I'm still a bit young for those, and like I said:  IN-tensly realistic.

Guess what I'm going to do now? Yep: 1) check out what the color hot pink means in dreams, and 2) continue working on writing those sex scenes, since the dreams don't seem to be going away anytime soon.

Happy Fall, y'all.