"God I need some coffee", I mumble to myself as I trundle reluctantly up the steps towards work. I had just left a two hour test for a promotional job and my brain was sloshing around in my head, scrambled with a side of toast.
Making a beeline for the espresso stand, I snuggle up behind a tall drink of iced latte in a leather jacket and hat. Waiting for the line to inchworm its way forward, I check out each inch of the 6 foot 3 lean muscle on my potential afternoon snack.
He turns and catches me with my imagination around the knees, flashing a smile hot enough to melt my bikini into a thong. "hmmm" I say to myself, "Coffee is great, but man candy is even better."
That's when it happened. The moment my fantasy man steps out of my bed and becomes...Jane Fonda.
The line moves an inch forward and my luscious pound of man flesh does a quick back breaking stretch, dropping his jean line and exposing a lower torso so carved into perfection that it would make a nun weep in appreciation. As my eyes drift lazily over his back, I imagine the ways in which I could memorize each and every etched line, mostly using my tongue.
Abruptly, my love train is derailed when Man Candy drops into a squat.
His long, lean, legs propelling his upper body up and down in a series of movements designed for a gym but more reminiscent of the bedroom.
In. the. espresso line...
My jaw drops as I'm watching his jean clad ass bounce in time to the squats his legs pump out in perfect form; leaving me feeling faintly flushed and in need of cool air. He straightens up and I let loose a breath in relief as we shift one step closer to my caffeine nirvana and a quick escape to the elevators, all thoughts of afternoon delight vanished in one quick aerobic moment.
Power Hour is evidently not over as he proceeds to do some arm stretches, almost knocking over a little old lady who is backpedaling like mad with her walker, trying to get away from his outstretched arms.
Moving from upper body stretches, he steps into a series of lunges that have people stepping over each other trying to get around the mad man in the espresso line. I'm strangling myself in my effort to not laugh as he finishes his impromptu performance with a series of leg jiggles.
He steps closer to the cashier and I can see him looking at me from the corner of his eye. Closing my jaw with a snap, I bite down on the insane urge to start singing Olivia Newton John's "Let's get physical, physical, I wanna get physical, Let's get into physical. Let me hear your body talk, your body talk, Let me hear your body talk"
"I will not laugh, I will not laugh." I repeat this mantra to myself as he continues to glance back at me.
I look at the ceiling,
the floor,
the poor old lady clutching her heart with one hand, her walker with the other...
anywhere but at Mr. Fonda.
Placing my coffee order behind him I keep a respectful distance between us, discouraging any form of communication in fear that the laughter building in my head will burst out, spewing upon his manly dignity.
I hurry to the Elevator, mocha clutched to my chest, dashing into it's cage as if the devil himself was behind me in leotards and bright neon pink leg warmers waving a matching sweat band and a poster of Jaime Lee Curtis. Gasping in air past my near miss and giggling madly to myself I watch the elevator close, blocking out the sight of his still appealing and ..um, ...limber, visage.
A quick flash of regret and my finger hovers over the stop button, poised to pounce. One thought nibbles at the back of my brain causing my hormones to go to war with my mind ...."hmmm, he is limber..."
The word came down at work about the internet crack down. It was passed
through folded notes, hurried whispers behind cupped hands, and frantic
attempts to clear all traces of internet activity that were not work
related.
As you know, I am abstaining from internet access at work in order to
appease the paycheck Gods...
However.....
I failed to inform my coworker of the impending crackdown.
Why? You ask....
Do I hate her? Nope, love her, she's great.
Do I wish to see her in trouble? Not even, would hate that as well.
Then why?
Because I figure, If I stop all internet use now, but she continues,
albeit, at her slower pace of usage....then perhaps she will catch up
with me and we can be in detention together!
Evil?
Yes, but I'm ok with that.
It was a busy weekend on the dating front.
I had a meet and greet on Friday afternoon.
I had a date with an old flame on Friday night.
I had a coffee date Sunday afternoon.
I had a dinner date Sunday night.
That sounds great right? The reality however left a bit to be desired.
Friday afternoon I met one man who then proceeded to lead me into three
very distinctly embarrassing situations.
Friday night I got stood up.
Sunday Afternoon I canceled due to extreme pushiness and plans for our
future wedding.
Sunday evening was the only normal one of the bunch and all I got were
friend vibes and way to much beer.
However it does make for great blog fodder...just as soon as my dignity
recovers.
Seriously, I'm exhausted. I think it's easier to go buy some batteries
and call it good.
Or, in plain English...Work wont let me play on the internet anymore! Sniffle.
Forgive me if I don't see your blogs during the day, I'm going to have to learn to lurk at night...oooo the agony!
Can you say caffeine?? Ah, me either, I'm way to hyper at the moment to "say" anything. I'd rather just run in a circle yapping excitedly while mumbling complex theories to myself...but that's just me.
So, I appreciate all your heart felt dating advice, but now let's buckle down to the details soldier. Here are a few questions I want you to answer. Ready? Got a pen? Crayon? Lipstick? God Lord, hurry up already, I want to snag a man before menopause smacks my ass!
1) After the first date, who should call first? How late should you wait to call if he hasn't?
2)How available should you make yourself to the other person in the following forms? (in person, over the phone, and via the internet)
3)If you get a little..um, intimate, does it ruin the chances of a future relationship? (Hush up Gypsy..lol)
Ok men (I mean that in a strictly General George S Patton sort of way) that's enough for now. Ponder your mission and report back post haste!
On another note, let me share with you a little email conversation I had on my myspace page.
(this is a cut and paste of the actual email. All spelling and punctuation issues are his alone, I have enough grammar issues of my own to take credit for his)
Random dude with no picture(I HATE that): hello I just saw your picture an I wanted to say HI. also I was wondering what kind of men do you like
Insert pause here as I quickly click over to his profile to make sure this not some random ex boyfriend trying to mess with me or a Quasimodo descendent.
incredibly luscious single mother..ok, FINE, ME: Your profile shows you in a relationship...so then I would have to reply in answer to your question..single men..LOL.
I don't understand why he wasn't pleased with that answer....
I can't think of a time that I didn't want to find the right guy. I'm great at finding the wrong guy. In fact I believe I've got a homing device tagged to my ass that let's them find me. I would have given up a long time ago if not for that promise of my "soul mate" dangling in front of my day dreams like a chocolate covered strawberry on a string. It's that oh so tasty morsel of a perfect match that keeps
Seems every woman on the planet can manage to lose a guy in ten seconds, let alone ten days. What
"Them" being Mr. Right; not Mr. Right Now.
What I ask of you, my dear, beloved readers (not that I'm kissing ass here or nothing), is what has worked for you?
I want the tricks of the trade, the rules of the game, and no cop outs like "Just be yourself" or "It just happens when it's right" because we both know that's a load of horse manure that's been steaming for a week. If that we're true, honey I'd have a harem of scantily clad man candy at my beck and call.
So I want the nitty gritty. The down and dirty secrets to trapping and skinning the man you want. What worked for you? What didn't? When to call, when not to call? How to tell when he's interested or when he's just passing the time, and what to do about it if he is.
Give me the dos and don'ts of dating and the secret weapons you used to bring down your perfect mate.
Guys, you tell me about the women that had all the right moves, (and no, I am NOT taking 9 1/2 weeks moves here...I think I've got that part down; thank you very much). What makes your heart go pitter patter in that manly way of yours? What brings you crawling back for more..and I do mean crawling, because if I'm going to do this right, I want that man bated, hooked and ready for the frying pan...
Ladies, tell me what has brought them back for encores until they forgot they were leaving and just stayed for the ride. Tell me what sent them through the roof and beyond. What you wished you had done instead of what you did...
Don't hold back now, because us girls, we got to stick together.
As for me, I promise to detail my experiments in the art of love for your reading enjoyment. However do not expect pictures. I'd rather you didn't run out of the room screaming "My eyes! Oh my God, my EYES!!"
So welcome one and all to my very first interactive post. Spread the word to your fellow bloggers and let's see if we can put the 'love' back into 'love affair'.
Remember, Kendell's looking for a daddy people, how can you deny this face??
Think I jest? This is what he looks like when I tell him I have yet to find good "daddy" material.
Help me please!
Why exactly do tampons always lose their packaging in your purse?
- Are they trying to escape and feel encumbered by their wrappings?
- Are they secretly nudists?
- Do they think if they get enough lint on them we wont use them? (they would be RIGHT..Dirty tampons)
- Do they meet up with the other tampons in your purse and have wild cotton orgies? If so...what do they use for birth control??
- They are planning a secret tampon invasion to take over vaginas all over the world?
- Are they actually a listening device planted by the Government in order to relay your every spoken word?...Though I imagine the used ones are getting muffled reception. Wait...Do you think they get combat pay??
- They are following a homing device and are just on their journey back to the "motherland"...(snort)
Fine, I'm stopping now. This post is just further proof that the authorities should come lock my crazy ass up.
"Look at what?" I ask, not really wanting to put down my book and miss reading about which body part the hero planned on worshipping next.
"There's this light in the sky" he said, his voice muffled by the glass his nose was currently glued to.
"It's called a 'star' Kendell" I say dryly, not looking up from the detailed description of Marco's muscular, glistening chest.
"No it's not MOM, a star does not flicker in and out" he states impatiently.
"Then it's a plane" I reply, flipping pages till I find out exactly how talented a tongue Marco has.
"MOM! It can't be a plane, it's not MOVING. Please, would you just look??"
"Fine." I put the book down with a sigh, resigned to a life of celibacy both IN my imagination and out. Opening the front door we file out to gaze at the night sky. Kendell points out the mysterious light, almost bouncing up and down in his urgency. I look up into the crystal clear sky, stars blinking back at me, looking like little night lights in the dark blanket of the night. "Which light bud? There's a million stars out tonight."
"There Mom, see?" he points to a light that does seem to be stationary and blinks in and out.
"It's a plane Kendell" I say on a sigh, walking back inside to the promising warmth of Marco's flexing biceps. "Sometimes it looks like it's not moving because it's so far up. Or it could be a star that a cloud cover is moving over, making it look like it's going in and out."
"It's not a plane, or a star Mom" Kendell says emphatically, flopping back onto the couch to continue his surveillance of the night sky.
"Ok Kendell, what do you think it is?" I ask, already knowing where this is going.
"It's aliens Mom" he says with the gravity reserved for telling someone they have a month left to live.
My laugh barks out before I can stop it and Kendell gives me a look of wounded pride as he turns and plops down on the couch with a huff. Arms crossed over his chest, lower lip protruding, he looks at me and says, "fine. When the brain eating aliens land, don't expect ME to save you."
Smiling, I chuckle and say, "how exactly are you planning on defending yourself against the brain eating aliens?"
He reaches down beside the couch and pulls out his Nerf dart gun, brandishing it with a flourish, chest puffed to maximum "I'm gonna give them a little taste of the Kendellnator".
Eyeing the dart gun dubiously, I glance at his Rambo-esq pose and reply dead pan,
"Yes, if they are scared of soft squishy projectiles...you're good to go".
"Watch me" I say as I shift back on my left foot and execute a quick jab with my right hand, the impact pushing through the bag and shooting back up my arm only to be stopped abruptly by my solid stance. The honest contact of strength against a solid body warms my muscles and reminds my brain of what I am capable of.
I watch as my son mimics my stance, just a bit goofy, his bed head hair flying around his face, bottom lip sucked between his teeth in concentration. I can't stop the smile that crosses my face as I instruct him. I watch his footing go from uncertain to sure and his punches begin to lead in the age old dance of the bag.
The memory of this day will one day spill out over some dinner, relating to a friend how his mother taught him the proper way to make a fist, to throw a punch, to defend himself. I can't help but be both proud and sad at how life is sometimes something less, and yet more, then what we expect.
Bored and complacent in his new found knowledge, he wanders away and leaves me to contemplate the heavy bag in the dark silence of my carport. It's an old friend, swinging there in silence. It has waited for this day with a patience unbroken by the passage of time. "What took you so long?" it creaks out in voices made by the squeaking of chain. I shake my head in response. I don't know. I had forsaken the comfort, the release that it unselfishly offered. I had turned away from the feeling of strength that infuses itself into my being when making contact with it's textured body, the confidence that straight lines into my self worth, in tandem to the gentle sway of the bag.
"I'm here today" I say to myself, as much as in answer to it's silent question. I swing a hook into it's side and sigh in satisfaction at the resounding sound of fist on canvas, embracing the small pain that shivers across my shoulders. The impact is solid and waves across my body as sweat slides down the side of my face, disappearing into the pony tail I had carelessly knotted at the back of my head.
I've been punishing myself for so long now. Denying what I loved in a self inflicted sentence. "No more" I whisper, beating out my sins with every contact I make. My body is slower, my responses lag from the weight I had layered on in defense against a world turned hard and unforgiving. But as I circle the bag in slow steady repetitions I can already sense the muscles in my shoulders tightening, my abdomen clenching in response, the sinew in my thighs awakening to muscle memory. As my body comes alive under the abuse I am showering upon it, I gaze out into the night sky and I know this one small truth.
I will never give up again.
Out of desperation and a fear that I might "lose it if I don't use it" soon, I went ahead and posted a profile. I was PAINFULLY honest and rather short winded (which we know is unusual).
I submitted my profile for approval and clicked on my matches that the happy little button told me I had, with a feeling that was strangely reminiscent of the day I walked out of the bathroom at school only to realize that my dress was tucked into my underwear. I get about half way down the first page when I see someone familiar.
It's Kendell's flag football coach.
I shoot a quick look over at Kendell who had been sitting beside me watching t.v.. Sure enough, he had already seen the picture and had a ear splitting grin etched firmly place.
"Oh Mom. You got to click on it! Click on it! Click on it!" he chanted.
I clicked on it and discovered that...well, yeah, we match. Funny. Then thoughts of how he would play my son more if I dated him flitted through my brain, only to be interrupted by the panic invoked at Kendell's next gleeful sentence.
"Oh I'm gonna tell his son at school!" chortled Kendell. I could see the plans for mayhem flitting behind his devilish eyes.
One bowl of ice cream and several threats later I got his word that he would not tell the coach's son about this.
Kendell wanders off to guard his xbox from his electronic threatening mother and leaves me alone with the computer. I chuckle self righteously about seeing someone I knew, conveniently forgetting that, HELLO, I am on the site too. That's when it hit me, the Coach is a paying member, and unlike my cheap skate butt, he can see who views his profile.
OH MY GOD.
I'm afraid Kendell can no longer attend any flag football practices due to acute mother embaressmentitis.
