Crush, Crushed, Crushing

I've always wondered what it would be like to run into a former crush. Apparently, fate doesn't realize that "wonder" doesn't equal "want."

Background Rundown: My crush asked me out; I stupidly said yes like a foolish crush-blind girl with foggy-brain syndrome. During the course of the date--pretty early on, actually--he started asking me when we were going to have sex, whether I would do things to him right there and then, etc.

A little shocked by his bluntness, I soon realized I was on a date with Sex-Only Guy. SOG didn't give a hoot about the person; he just wanted to "bang." He didn't know about my V-card, but he quickly figured out that I'm not a wham-bam kind-of girl, much to his dismay.

According to him, he thought I was "a naughty girl in good girl clothes."

At the time, he said he would take me out again IF I'd "eff" him. I told him that's not going to happen; he said it was a shame and he's going to have to "regrettably" let me go.

And that's how a crush crushes. (Not that I want a guy like that...it's just a little disappointing when your crush turns out to be nothing like you expected or hoped).

Fast forward: The random run-in turned into, well, more of the same. After showcasing his ability to masterfully craft urban dictionary lingo into a compliment on my appearance, he asked if I was still "...the good girl or would I be willing to go around the corner."

Nothing changes.

I thereafter confirmed my good-girl status, to which he shook his head and groaned, "Shame."

Me: "You said that before, as I recall."

SOG: "Why not go wild? If it makes you feel any better, I'm pretty sure I'd want you more than once."

Me: "Well that doesn't in any way make me feel like a can of beer or anything."

SOG, laughing: "Some women are like beer--you can't stop at one. It's a compliment."

Me: "And when you hit the end of the six pack, it's onto the next." He laughingly agreed and liked my sauciness. "Yeah, I'm not into to being a beer can."

SOG: "All right, all right, I'm not getting anywhere. It is too bad, though. You should probably give some thought to how things work...there's a reason you are still single."

Me, working to control my temper: "Really? Enlighten me."

SOG: "Men want Pamela, not Audrey."

I knew instantly what he meant--he talked quite a bit using movie/celebrity references. Men want the blonde-bombshell-sex-symbol-type like Pamela Anderson, not Audrey Hepburn.

SOG: "You're the Audrey."

Me: "That much I got, oddly enough." After a brief pause, I had a thought.  "But, here's the thing some men don't understand--the Audrey's can be every bit the Pamela...they just save their Pammy moves for the Harrison Ford's or the Sean Connery's, rather than waste them on the Charlie Sheen's."

I was quite proud of that little comeback, especially considering Charlie Sheen is one of his idols. [Note: Recent Charlie Sheen news had him partying for two days, where one of his special guests was a blonde porn star--undoubtedly the ideal scenario for SOG].

So, men want Pamela's, not Audrey's, according to Charlie, er, SOG. What do you think? Should this be a crushing revelation to the Audrey's of the world, or just a crappy concept formed in the mind of an egotistical prick? Personally, I prefer the latter.

Maybe we Audrey's should modify our image by re-naming ourselves Undercover Pamela's or Saucy Audrey's. Hmm. Maybe not.

The Blog Blonde Is At It Again!

I'm trying to update my blog--add stuff, change stuff, and basically just try a bunch of technical things I haven't a clue about. Sooooo, bear with me--the blog may look a little unfinished while I stumble along through the process.

And, um, why is my blog getting a lot of traffic from people looking for info. on Troy Aikman's sexuality? Really?

Watching Winter X Games--those guys and gals can really throw down. Shaun White tonight!!!! If you haven't seen him, you are missing out on something special--the guy is phenomenal.

Do you twitter? I've often thought about it, but...I dunno...what am I gonna say? 2:30--slipped on ice, fell on bum; 3:30--bit sore, craving soda; 5:00--certain songs make my hormones rage something furious (example Robin Thicke's music...seriously); 7:00--the static electricity is really bugging me...feel like have Beetlejuice hair.

Anyway, I'm rambling...mainly because I'm putting off having to figure out the technical-blog-stuff.

Hope y'all had a great weekend!

I'm Funny!!! It's Award Time!

The LOL Award: My sleepless day was totally made yesterday when the wonderful PencilGirl left me a wonderful award on her blog. On top of that, she thinks I'm kinda funny! Yay!!! I'm convinced humor is the cure-all for dealing with jackholes.

 Rules: 1. Thank and link to the blogger who gave you this award (see above); 2. Pass this award to seven fellow bloggers who make you giggle: Sandra; Aunt of 14; Simple Dude; Rebekah; Alessandra; Yvonne; Drew; Jewels;
The Mad Fat Girl

3. Reveal 7 unknown things about yourself.

a. My eyes appear to change color from their normal blue. If I cry or have watery eyes, they look aqua; if I wear green, they look very green.

b. I used to have the biggest crush on Zack Morris (Saved By The Bell).

c. French Music/Latin Music: Love both. Sometimes, I just put on a salsa beat and cut loose; other times, I chill to some relaxing French music.

d.  My favorite Broadway show is Phantom of the Opera. The music caught my ear when I was about seven years old--loved it ever since. Every time I hear That's All I Ask Of You, I cry.

e.  I'm a total believer in jinxing your teams. When I was in high school, I, on occasion, would make "Go Cowboys" signs for game day. Every time I made the sign, they lost (which wasn't often because they won the Super Bowl in those days). So, to this day, I refuse to make signs, hang banners, or wear anything related to my Cowboys on game day. In fact, this holds true across the board. If the Cowboys are playing, I wear a Texas Longhorns shirt; when the Longhorns are playing, I wear an LSU shirt; when LSU plays, I wear a Cowboys shirt, etc. Works pretty well unless your team is just total rubbish for a season, then it doesn't really matter. I love my teams too much to risk jinxing them.

f.  My favorite flower is the daisy--they remind me of a smiling sunshine. I just love them...and pink roses.

g. I can't stand for my feet or hands to hang off the edge of my bed. Dunno why. Maybe it goes back to when I was little and believed the monster dwelling under the bed would grab them. ;)

Tomorrow's the big day! Guest blogger over at Jewel's blog!!!!! :)

Guest Blogger News!

I just wanted to make sure y'all know that this coming Thursday, I will be the guest blogger on http://www.jewelsturning30.com/. 

I can't wait! I've been stressing, but that's so me. Writing for Jewels has been an absolute joy. I hope y'all will check it out...and I sure hope y'all like the post. :)

PLUS, I have an award to give out!! Yay! I'm working on the award post now and will publish it tomorrow (had hoped to have it posted today, but time just got away from me).

Oh, and the news stirring up Dallas fans: Troy Aikman is getting a divorce. Didn't expect to see those headlines while searching for Dallas Cowboys news. I truly hope things will work out in the best possible way for them all.

Now That Devil-Nose Is Open For Business...

...I can smell again, which, of course, means a 3 a.m. panic when what smelled like something burning reached my nostrils. I was utterly terrified. I ran everywhere, trying to find the source of the smell, but I found absolutely nothing. Could it have been someone's fireplace? I dunno. It was freaky. Really, really freaky. I didn't sleep at all--just sat up watching tv, trying to do some work, while acting as watcher for the house.

So, because my brain is totally scattered right now, this post will be totally random.

1. Soda confession: Yeah. I had the soda. It tasted so darn good. It was like liquid candy. I'm back on the water now. Reckon one soda isn't too bad. Strangely, the water tastes better than it did prior to the soda. Go figure.

2. As a Dallas Cowboys fan, gotta tell ya, not thrilled over the Super Bowl this year. Personally, if the Cowboys couldn't be in it, I would have liked to see the Jets and Atlanta/Saints/Bears battle it out in Cowboys' Stadium. Instead, we have two teams that have impacted my Cowboys in very, very negative ways over the years. Anyone heard of the Ice Bowl? Yeah. I wasn't even born yet, but I think I started hearing that story when I was in the womb. Super Bowl. Sigh.

3. Say Yes To The Dress and The Single Sandwich: While channel surfing, I stumbled across that TLC show, Say Yes To The Dress, and it reminded me of something I saw last fall/early winter. Imagine being a single woman watching a show about other women getting married and shopping for dresses.  Now, imagine the show going to a commercial break. What kind of commercial would you expect? Some random diet commercial, maybe? How about one of those jewelry commercials? They would fit the theme right?

Now, imagine suddenly hearing the original version of All By Myself as the camera focuses in on a lonely sandwich on a plate. Oh, I'm not kidding. Weddings--marriage--wedding gowns...and a commercial that blares All By Myself while featuring food.

What marketing/advertising genius came up with that little gem? What idiot thought it would be a good idea to air an ad featuring THAT song during a show about wedding dresses? Seriously. Absolute idiot.

4. Delusional people: I don't get them. We're talking people who think they are seriously famous when all they are known for is getting drunk and acting trashy. Suppose it doesn't help that they are awarded with book deals, spokesperson gigs, etc. Really, I don't get it. It's scary to hear how many delusional folks are in this world.

5.  Wasn't: For the first time, I didn't play his game. In the past, I oftentimes unwittingly played, hoping it would lead to a solid friendship, at the very least. Since retiring from the game, I have to admit...I feel great. It's like a huge weight has been lifted and I can breathe again.

Uh, yeah, so my brain just kinda stopped thinking. Clearly, the lack of sleep and serious stress from last night/early this morning is catching up with me.

I'll just leave you with a good, upbeat Monday-kind-of song. Groove a little--feel happy.

Please, May I Have A Soda?! Soda Poll....

Can't sleep, thanks to my nose. Apparently it's not done singing kumbaya with the Kleenex and Vick's VapoRub. It's just revolting, really.

Been thinking (nuthin' else to do): Since I'm feeling a little cruddy...and my shower door enjoyed making me nervously squirm in the nude...and an ice dam decided to spring a drip right near the toilet...and my Mavs lost...do you think maybe I could have a soda?

I've been BFF's with the goody-goody water for a while now; I'm craving the imperfectly perfect soda.

What do y'all think? Soda or no soda? *sniff, cough, gag, whine*

Icy Thrones, Stubborn Showers, and One Mavs Loss

It all started with the Mavs loss last night. Something about that loss unleashed a series of rather unfortunate events.

First, a sinus attack decided to kidnap my nose's sanity and will not let go. Seriously, where does it all come from? How can one little nose produce that much havoc? I look like Rudolph. I swear, the dang thing is glowing. Hurts like heck, too--raw little s.o.b.

Somewhere between "I want to rip off my nose" and wanting to shove Kleenex in both nostrils, I got up to use the restroom--my water intake has been significant. Upon entering the bathroom, I heard an unsettling sound.

Drip, drip, drip.

Crap. A leak.

Where?

Drip, drip, drip.

Where are you, you little brat?

I couldn't find it, so I decided to go about usual bathroom business.

Drip, drip....ARGH!

I discovered the ice-cold devil-drip while in a rather compromising position, which I had to endure until I could get in a more appropriate stance to investigate.

Found the leak. Outside my bathroom window was a grouping of massive icicles, which means...ice dam. Wonderful. **Note: All fixed now...the guys came by and knocked down the icicles--it hasn't dripped since. So, here's hoping.**

Shower time: Ever been stuck in the shower...literally? I can now add this to my list of unwanted experiences. After showering, I pushed on the door, only to find it stuck. IT WOULD NOT OPEN. I didn't know what to do. I was quite literally stuck, in my birthday suit, in the shower. After unsuccessfully attempting to shoulder-slam the shower door (I don't recommend it), I stood, poised to karate kick the stupid thing down.

Just as I was about land the kick, the door popped open; it shocked the crud outta me...so much so, in fact, that I stupidly stumbled over the step, flew out of the shower, lost my footing, and rammed into the counter. Dang door. I'm thinking I won't close it all the way from now on.

Mavs, I really need you to win.

Happy Friday!

A Virgin's Tale About Her Dallas Mavericks

Last night, I nervously watched my Dallas Mavericks break a depressing losing streak against none other than the Los Angeles Lakers. HUGE win...a win of massive proportions...we're talking enormous. Think you get it. Three words: Welcome Back, Dirk.

Anyway, after watching the game, I couldn't help but think about the ONE time I could have actually seen them play.

I was in professional school. The bigwigs my friend interned for had a private box at the American Airlines Center where the Mavs play. One evening, she called and asked if I would like to go to the game later that night.

ACTUALLY SEE MY MAVERICKS PLAY!!!  Could this be real?! Could one of my dreams ACTUALLY come true?

Hyperventilating ensued...before the second shoe dropped. There's always a second shoe when it comes to dreams, isn't there?

The conversation went a little something like this:

Friend: "Um, there's something you should know about tonight. My bosses are entertaining some really important business associates from Chicago."

Me: "Okay..."

Friend: "Well, they asked me to invite one of my friends...a 'pretty one.'"

Me, more than a little uncomfortable: "Uh-huh..."

Friend: "They kind-of want us to entertain the men coming in."

Me: "Exactly what do they mean by 'entertain?'"

Friend: "Oh, nothing like that. Just talk to them, maybe flirt a little."

A conditional dream come true--how could I not predict something like this? I felt completely deflated. When I watch my teams play, I'm there to support and cheer for MY TEAM, not be some guy's little barbie doll who will bat her eyes and giggle like a moron at everything he says.

I had a choice: Go and be someone I'm not or go and be who I am, potentially risking any opportunity my friend may have at a job offer.

I couldn't do it. I couldn't go watch my Mavericks just to not watch my Mavericks. And I knew what would happen--I'd go, WATCH the game, which means barely making an effort to "entertain" the men, and end up hurting her chances for a job offer.

Me, with a heavy heart: "You know, I wish I could go, but I really need to work on this paper."

Friend: "Are you sure? We'd still have fun!"

Me: "Yeah, I'm sure. Besides, I'm afraid I wouldn't show very well for you--I would probably come off rude because I would want to watch the game and wouldn't be as sociable as they would like.  You know me and sports."

She went to the game; I stayed home and watched on television...and worked on my paper. Thrilling. As I recall, I saw more of the game on television than she did actually being there.

The one time I could have seen them play and my dang principles had go and get in the way.  I just couldn't see myself flirting it up, being someone I'm not. I've never done things just to get things I may want. So, I reckon, I can be proud of that...still...it hurts to know I was THAT close to seeing my Mavs and Mark Cuban--love how much he loves the Mavs. I mean, how many opportunities like that actually fall in your lap?

I'm watching them battle Chicago right now...from my recliner...while researching.  The lack of change in my life is glaring.

Maybe one day I'll have another chance...for now, it's all about cheering Dallas to a win. GO MAVERICKS!

 

UPDATE: Mavs lost, but they played a great game. 

No Ordinary Virgin

Last night, I watched one of my favorite new shows, No Ordinary Family, on ABC and received a rather revealing surprise.

**Note: Spoiler ahead**

Stephanie had to face two Katie's, one fake, one real. To determine which was the real Katie, Stephanie asked her what she did for the very first time last week.  The real Katie (the bubbly scientist sidekick to Stephanie Powell) hesitantly replied, "I don't want to say in front of her [the fake Katie]. It's embarrassing to be a 28-year-old virgin."

Fabulous.

Soda is calling.

So, basically, all I need to do is find a boyfriend like hers: a genetically altered murdering superhuman who, against all odds, falls hopelessly in love with Katie the virgin.

Simple.

Must resist urge for soda.

Award Time: I'm Stylish, Happy, and Sweet!!! And So Are Y'all!

That's right, it's blog award time!! As always, PLEASE do what you will with these awards--you certainly don't have to follow the rules or anything like that--just have fun with them and enjoy them! **Honestly, I don't like picking people for an award because I truly, genuinely think EVERY single one of you deserves them**

Happy 101 Blog Award: The first award is the Happy 101 Blog Award. My dear friend, J.Day, gave me this award before Christmas. Um, yeah, I'm a little slow in posting this wonderful award. Check out her blog--it's a fantastic read...and the roommate posts are insanely good--and I do mean insane. ;) Her ex-roommate will make yours look like a dream. Thank you so, so much--you are truly a sweetheart!

Rules: 1. Thank the wonderful blogger who gave you this award (above, but I'll say it again--THANK YOU SO MUCH *hugs). 2. Pass this along to...EVERYONE! To every single person who reads my little blog, this Happy award is for you. I can't thank you enough for your support.



The Irresistibly Sweet Blog Award: The wonderfully funny, kind, and supportive Jewels gave me this award, and I couldn't be happier. If you haven't found her blog yet, click the link and take a look--she's funny, real, and true to the core.

Rules: 1. Pass the award to 6 fabulous fellow bloggers: Cinderita; Lex; Julianna; Stephanie; Cherry; ms. caboo;  2. Confess 5 guilty pleasures:

a. Having a small bowl of dry Captain Crunch while watching sci-fi shows like Being Human, Torchwood, Doctor Who, and Buffy the Vampire Slayer. (Hey, since I'm slaying stereotypes, can I be a Slayer...you know, of stereotypes?)

b. Staying up late/Napping: I love to stay up while the rest of the world (almost) sleeps. Likewise, I love to sleep while the rest of the world is awake. (Um, I totally sound like a vampire). There's something really cool about doing the opposite of what everybody else is doing at any given time. Have you noticed I'm not a follower? Well, apart from following blogs. Bah. You know what I mean.

c. Marc Jacobs handbags. God, help me, I love 'em. I'm more of a Marc by Marc Jacobs girl--I like my bags BIG and squishy. Oh, the smell of the leather is...AHHHHHH...divine. I'm frugal, though--I only buy on sale with free shipping codes. It's just a smart way to buy luxury labels.

d. Tiger Droppings .com during an LSU game. 'Nuff said.

e. Dancing and singing in my undies. Yes, the virgin likes to shake it in her undies. What can I say? It's fun.

The Stylish Blogger Award: Oooh, I love the name of this one! Given to me by the oh-so-sweet Starlight! If you haven't already, you must check out her blog!!Thank you so much--I can't tell you how much it means to me!

Rules: 1. Thank and link back to the individual who gave you this award (see above); 2. Share 7 things about yourself. 3. Award 5 bloggers: Jewels; J. Day; Yvonne; Lori; Jules

a. There are some foods I can't stand because of texture, like raw tomatoes--if they are cooked, it's all good; raw, not so much.

b. I LOATHE sushi. Don't get me near the stuff...the smell alone will surely send me into full on gag-mode.

c. Recurring nightmare (warning: it's truly pathetic): I show up to class and realize I forgot to study for an exam. I start freaking out that it's going to destroy my GPA. It's about then when I wake up in a panic, only to realize I'm through with ALL those years of schooling. Ugh. Will I ever outgrow the Hermione phase? Probably not.

d.  I wish I could bottle the smell of my mama's garlic roast dinner. *Sigh* It's so ridiculously good.

e. Sometimes I just like to listen to American Standards--break away from today's pop sounds (they all begin to sound alike after a while). From Frank Sinatra and Tony Bennett to Harry Connick, Jr. and Diana Krall, I love them all. So calming. 

f. I love to play the online game Bloons. Seriously, it's kinda addicting.

g. When I was little, I used to re-write the endings to movies. My mom would place a yellow notepad next to me toward the end of a film, just in case I felt the need to recreate the ending.

The Life Is Good Award: Many, many thanks to Yvonne and J. Day for this seriously smile-worthy award!  I just love these awards! They make my day!

Rules: 1. Thank and link back to the wonderful blogging friends who gave me this award (see above); 2. Answer 10 survey questions; 3. Pass the Award on to your fabulous blogging buddies: Martha Ruth; Aunt Of 14; Wynn; Starlight; Average Girl; George; Suzanne; Rebekah; Kalei; Mynx; Drake

Q1.  If you blog anonymously, are you happy doing this? If you aren't anonymous, do you wish you started out anonymously so that you could be anonymous now? For now, I am comfortable blogging anonymously. Anonymous or not, this is me...this is who I am.

Q2.  Describe an incident that shows your inner stubborn side. My mom is probably best equipped to answer this one. Honestly, I think just trying to find my soul mate without having to lay down with every guy to find him makes me pretty darn stubborn...or foolish...I guess time will answer that one. Still, I'm not giving up, and I'm not giving it up to just anyone.

Q3. What do you really see when you look at yourself in the mirror? Someone who is finally realizing she is pretty darn strong; someone who has a foolishly big heart; someone who doesn't take herself too seriously...and someone who can be a big dork sometimes.  Basically, I see me, flaws and all.

Q4. What is your favorite summer cold drink? Do I really need to answer? SODA. Summer, Fall, Winter, Spring...SODA. 

Q5. When you take time for yourself, what do you do? I love to read, write, curl up and watch epic movies. Just escape reality.

Q6. Is there something you still want to accomplish in your life? Oh goodness, yes. Aside from finding love (pretty much a given, right?) and starting a family, it would be a dream come true to have my mama see me achieve my dreams. I would love to deconstruct the stereotypical face of virginity and really show people, young and old, that waiting for love is a real option, not some crazy, bizarre thing reserved for the wacky.

Q7. When you attended school, were you the class clown, the class overachiever, the shy person, or always ditching? I was your quintessential Hermione Granger, especially in college.

Q8. If you close your eyes and want to visualize a very poignant moment in your life, what would you see? Seeing my daddy in the hospital, fighting for his life. He's such a strong, solid Texas guy; seeing him so fragile was unbearable. It made me realize the importance of every single second we have in this life. All those little things we complain about--all those cruel things people say--mean absolutely nothing in the grand scheme of things. Loving your family, spending as much time with them as possible...that's what matters. Just breathe...live...love.

Q9. Is it easy for you to share your true self in your blog, or are you more comfortable writing posts about other people or events? I think it all depends on the topic. Generally, I'm pretty comfortable--it's just me...in writing, really.

Q10. If you had the choice to sit down and read a book or talk on the phone, which would you do and why? Reading a book, hands down. I love getting completely lost in a story, its characters, its world.

Sticky Willoughby

One of the first rules of soap opera writing: characters recur, even in the most ridiculously impossible ways. 

Too bad I didn't really think about that when I wrote myself out of Wasn't's script.

Note: When writing yourself out of someone's story, prepare for that someone to come back and write himself into yours.

Wasn't makes a cameo: Saturday, I awoke to a message from Wasn't. He was just needling me about football--friendly competitive stuff. Although...he did call me "baby."

Me, groggy, reacting to the message: "Baby? As in 'I carried a watermelon?' (Dirty Dancing reference, for those who don't know). He never uses the word 'baby.' Ugh."

I didn't respond.

Today, I had another needling message waiting for me. This time, he made it personal--a backhanded comment slapping my Dallas Cowboys in the face. Not cool.

My initial reaction was to send him a fiery reply. Then a light bulb went off--he's trying to get under my skin; he knows what gets to me...what gets me to respond.  Clever. Very clever.

I haven't responded, but an interesting little thought did cross my mind: By trying to get under my skin, I have to wonder just how much my non-response has gotten under his.  

Stereotype Slayer #12: Virgins Are Sheltered

Many people believe virgins live sheltered lives, never experiencing anything truly emotional. After all, if we don't have sex, we must not be wise to the ways of the world, right? I've heard it many times: "You've never had your heart broken by a boyfriend. When it happens, then you will understand. Just wait."

Maybe I've never had my heart smashed into a million pieces by a man, but it has been wounded; I have felt the cruel sting of disappointment.

There are other circumstances in life that can break a heart, like seeing your healthy-as-a-horse father forced to suddenly fight for his life. Believe me, my heart has been broken.

Life alone has a way of un-sheltering the sheltered.

I've never had my heart broken by a man, and I openly admit to keeping the "heart card" close to the vest; I do not, and will not, hand it over easily. I suppose, in a way, I keep my heart sheltered, hoping never to experience love-induced heartbreak.  Should it happen, I will pick myself up and keep moving forward because that's what you do...that's what it means to be human--you feel, you live, you bend, you break, you rise up, and you grow stronger. 

When you think about it, we humans--virgins and non-virgins alike--really are superheroes...because there's no such thing as living a sheltered life. 

Stereotype #12--SLAYED.

New Year, New Me, Old Wasn't

Before Christmas, I made the rounds sending Holiday wishes via e-mail, e-card, traditional Christmas card, and/or phone.

The big invisible question floating above my head: Would I send Wasn't Christmas wishes? Honestly, I didn't even have to think about it: Of course I'm wishing him a Merry Christmas. Some people wondered why I would bother. The answer was very simple: He's a human being who has been in my life for many years; he has been through a great deal this year, things far worse than his current relationship woes.

A few days before Christmas, I called and left Christmas wishes on his voicemail, truly not expecting anything in return.  What I didn't really anticipate was how final my message sounded; it came out sort-of like a Christmas farewell.  It took me by surprise. 

The next morning, I awoke to a rather nice text message, telling me how great it was to hear my kind voice; he then gave me a very specific time when he would call.

I don't know if he called or not; the time wasn't good for me. Whether he meant to or not, it felt a little like he was trying to squeeze me into his schedule--fitting me in around his girlfriend.

Christmas morning, he called to wish my family and I a Merry Christmas. He also made it very clear he was spending the holiday with family only (i.e. no girlfriend) and wanted me to call him anytime that day.

Again, I got that "squeezed in" feeling. The timing was good for him.

I really just wanted to spend Christmas Day and night with my family; I didn't feel like getting into another directionless, hint-filled conversation with him. My mom said, "Honey, you are a genuinely sweet soul, but don't you dare feel guilty about not calling him.  The time is good for him, not for you.  You don't have to jump through hoops."

I didn't call him back.

Over two years ago, I realized we were never going to happen. If I had a dollar for each time he invited me into his life, only to go M.I.A. for a couple of weeks before returning as if nothing ever transpired...as if he never said those words that touch your heart...

I've tried to just be his friend, but no matter what, it always comes back to those familiar hints. Always implied, never realized. As one of my friends said, "He is Willoughby to your Marianne." (From Jane Austen's Sense & Sensibility, for those unfamiliar).

He hasn't called; I assume he's less than pleased I didn't call him when he said he'd be available.

Same story, new year...only I'm not going to be a recurring character in his story. I've written myself out of the script. The End.

Now, for The Beginning...

Family Football Games: Mom Talks, I Choke

Watching football with my mom is an experience unlike any other. Oh, everything starts out pleasant enough, but as the game progresses--especially if she feels our team is playing poorly--her southern charm periodically morphs into this rabid, eye-popping, she-football-monster, a-la-Scooby Doo. Should they pick up their game and start scoring points, Scooby-monster-mom calmly settles back into her sweet southern self...until the next bad call, missed FG, or stupid playing calling tees her off.

My dad is a little more laid back in the football department. His definition of emotion is to shout in a moderately raised voice, "Get 'em" or "Sonuvabitch," followed by throwing up his arms in disgust or a fist pump in jubilation.

Between the two, you have me. I inherited both genes, which makes for...well...a fun time, I'm told. Toss in my slight tendency for rocking back-and-forth on the edge of my seat, along with nervous pacing, and some couch-quarterbacking, recliner coaching, and a whole lot of passion, and  I'd say my family can rival a sold out Cowboys' Stadium on Thanksgiving Day.

Case in point: Friday night; Cotton Bowl; LSU v. Texas A&M.

My daddy raised me to hate A&M. Why? Hook 'em horns. My mama, on the other hand, lives and breathes the LSU Tigers. So, come Friday, the electricity had mounted to something even I couldn't predict. My dad took to nervous snacking, while I sat calmly...drinking soda. Yeah, yeah, I know. I figure I get a pass on that one. I mean, hello? It's LSU!

My mom? Oddly quiet. Like the eye of a hurricane. I kept asking if she was all right; things were NOT going our way in the first quarter...in fact, LSU looked downright awful.

Mom, much too calm: "Fine, honey, just fine."

When my mom uses the word fine, she is so way worse than fine. 

Finally, Jordan Jefferson (LSU QB) takes it in for a touchdown.

Out of absolutely nowhere, my mom shouts: "THERE WE GO! FINALLY! Now, let's stop looking like a vajayjay out there and annihilate these hush puppies!"

I literally choked on my soda--we're talking soda up the nose, burning throat, gurgling gag--whole nine.

Me, shocked and laughing uncontrollably: "Did you just say vajayjay?"

Mom, wide-eyed: "Yes, why?"

Me: "Do you even know what that means?"

Mom: "No, but I heard it on MTV. I figured it must be slang for idiots or fools or something along those lines. Why? What does it mean?"

Yes, my mom watches MTV.

Me, unable to stop laughing, while nearly coughing up a lung: "It's definitely slang. It's slang for, um, the female private parts."

My mom's eyes widened even more, her mouth hanging open in shock.

Mom: "Really? You mean like the 'p' word?"

Me: "Really and yes, like that word."

Mom, after a brief moment, broke into a big smile: "Huh, how do you like that..."

Me: "What?"

Mom, giggling: "It was even more fitting than I thought!"

Me: "Ladies and gentlemen, my mama."

And the laughs continued through the the 41-24 LSU pummeling of A&M.

She called Cam Newton (she doesn't like him--google the controversy surrounding him and you'll see why) a vajayjay tonight after he said God uses him as a vessel.

I think she's found a new word.

Y'all should really watch a game with us sometime. :)

Friday's Celebrity Frisky Virgin Update: Selena Gomez & Justin Bieber; Selena Gets Death Threats

Well, it's been all the news this week: Selena Gomez and Justin Bieber getting cozy on a yacht. Now, the Disney darling is receiving--are you ready for this?--death threats from some Bieber fans! Tweets of "I hate you" and "I'll kill you," were left on Selena's twitter page.

Speaking, writing, let alone thinking, such hateful thoughts is unfathomable. I was a teenager once--I get the whole celebrity crush thing; we've all had them in some form or fashion. But never, in any way, shape, or form, did spiteful, hateful thoughts enter the vicinity of my thought process.

So, what started the hate? These pictures, to begin with: Selena & Justin Get Cozy, Kiss

Now, I only looked at a couple of photos and, gotta say, something doesn't quite look right to me. Maybe it's the posing. Bottom line: if they are a couple, let them be...think of them how you would like others to think of you. It always comes back to that Golden Rule, doesn't it?

Now, on a totally different note, I have to acknowledge the change in celebrity hotness. When my friends and I were in our teens, we had a very different hotness quotient from today's teens. Justin is a cutie-pie, don't get me wrong Bieber-fans, but he's not someone I (or my friends) would have swooned over as a teen, and that's simply a result of changing times. Interesting how things change, isn't it?

                                           NOW:

Justin Bieber & Selena Gomez; credit: music.ninemsn.com.au

THEN: 

Angel From Buffy The Vampire Slayer; credit buffy.wikia.com

Troy Aikman (The Dallas Cowboys' QB in the day); credit deadspin.com

The Justin Bieber of the 1990s: Jeremy Jordan, made famous by 90210, when his song, The Right Kind Of Love played at the end of the show.

Dear New Year, I Don't Like You.

Here's why:

1. I have to constantly remind myself to write "2011" on checks, notes, letters, etc. Inevitably, I'll forget on something random and embarrass myself.

2. Your presence reminds me that I can no longer live as I have the past two weeks. No cookies at midnight. No laying on my bum, free from cramped muscles and sweaty pits due to excessive toning exercises. And, most importantly, no soda. Harsh, New Year, really harsh.

3. You impose guilt and feign hope. I mean, what are you? The ghosts of New Year's past, present, and future all rolled into one cruel witch?

4. What exactly is "new" about you, other than the last digit? I suppose new things can happen...dreams, wishes, love, blah, blah, blah. Maybe there are "tiny" tweaks that technically qualify as "new." It just seems like one year rolls into the other where nothing ever truly changes, at least not for the better...it's just more of the same crappity-crap packaged in fancy new gift wrap. 

And, dear blogging friends, you should totally ignore all of the negativity, for it comes from the mind of a single with serious soda withdrawal.

I. Want. My. Caffeine...that sugary, high fructose, fat-cells-in-a-can goodness.

Water is such an overrated goody-goody.

Why Wednesday: Why Be A Joke?

Acquaintance She-Beast: "I don't understand why you're comfortable being a joke."

Me: "I didn't realize I was a joke."

Acquaintance She-Beast: "Oh, come on. You're a virgin in your 30s. Of course people are laughing behind your back. I do. Instead of poor you, I like to say pure you." She laughs.

Honestly, was that funny at all? On the joke scale, I'm thinking it's pretty lame.

Me: "Well, laughing is good for the heart, right? I'm just doing my part for mankind."

Acquaintance She-Beast: "I'm just trying to be a friend."

Gag.

Me: "Ooooh, so that's what you're trying to be. Totally thought you were channeling something else."

Acquaintance She-Beast, missing it completely: "You're welcome." Did I thank her? "Now, you know it's a New Year?"

Me: "Yes, that much I am aware of."

Acquaintance She-Beast: "It's time to stop people laughing at you. Let's make a plan to get you laid. Shouldn't be tough. We just have to get you over this love thing."

Me, after a moment's pause: "Did you make any New Year's resolutions?"

Acquaintance She-Beast: "I never do, why?"

Why doesn't that surprise me?

Me: "Might want to consider making a few dozen"

Not sure she even got it, but I sure felt better. 

Here's what: If people are laughing at me, let 'em! I really just don't care. Besides, I laugh at myself all the time. I'm not trying to live my life the way other people think I should live it--nobody should live like that because that's not really living at all. 

Laugh on! :) 

Preserving A Husband--A Funny.

This little blip came from one of my mom's cookbooks and I just had to share it with y'all. I have no idea which cookbook it is from because she typically buys old books just to cut out recipes, modify them, and place them in her sacred personal cooking binder.

Mom, handing me a slip of paper: "For future reference."

On the paper:

How To Preserve A Husband

"Be careful in your selection. Do not choose too young, and take only such varieties as have been reared in a good moral atmosphere. When once decided upon and selected, let that part remain forever settled and give your entire thought to preparation for domestic use. Some insist on keeping them in a domestic pickle while others are constantly getting them into hot water. Even poor varieties may be made sweet, tender, and good by garnishing them with patience, well sweetened by smiles and flavored with kisses. Then wrap well in a mantle of charity, keep warm with a steady fire of domestic devotion, and serve with peaches and cream.

When thus prepared, they will keep for years!"

~Cookbook Unknown.

A Most Illuminating New Year's Eve

Is there anything worse than being single on New Year's Eve? Yes. Being single and having a birthday on New Year's Eve. Anything worse than that? Yes. Being single on Valentine's Day. Can we top that one? Yep. Being single and celebrating a birthday on February 14th.  My deepest sympathies to any single forced to celebrate a b-day on Valentine's Day.

Now, what could possibly top the hideousness of a Singletonville-New Year's-or-Vomit Day-birthday? Being a single virgin on New Year's and having fate flip you the finger in the most illuminating fashion.

My New Year's Eve festivities are pretty predictable: hang around with family, watch some kind of innocuous movie/show marathon, eat cookies or ice cream, and wonder about the hidden symbolic meaning behind tons of people celebrating a giant ball sliding down a pole. Then, at about 3 a.m., I am forced to hear the 90-year-old neighbor come home from her date. Yes, her date. Every year she has a date. The sound of her heels clip-clopping along her porch is unnerving.

This year was no exception, but for one event occurring early in the evening.

About an hour after painting my nails, I heard my mom have some sort of meltdown in the kitchen.

Me: "Mom? Are you okay?"

Mom: "I've destroyed the refridgerator."

Me: "Um, is that possible? How?"

Mom: "I don't know."

Me: "Is it not working?"

Mom: "It's drizzling."

Me: "Mom, you are making zero sense right now. What do you mean it's drizzling?"

Mom, opening the fridge door: "Come here...listen."

It sounded like something was dripping within the fridge.

Me: "Maybe something fell over in the back."

Mom, moving things around: "Oh my God."

Me: "What? What do you see?"

Mom: "Red. All down the back of my beautiful fridge. OH! It's running down three shelves AND down behind the SALAD DRAWER! I have to get my special quiche finished for tomorrow! I can't clean this mess now! This is a nightmare."

Me, trying not to laugh: "It's New Year's Eve, honestly, what do you expect? I'll clean it up, don't worry."

Mom: "Oh, sweetheart, thank you."

I began unloading the fridge to find the nasty culprit.

Me: "You have got to be kidding me."

Mom: "What is it?"

Me, holding a jar: "Cherries."

Mom, reddening in the face, trying to suppress the laughter: "Oh, honey. Cherry juice? My, that's..."

Me: "Typical. The virgin cleaning cherry juice on New Year's Eve. Doesn't that just beat all."

After a few minutes of silence, my mom and I broke into hysterics. Hey, what can you do? Ya gotta laugh. The irony is just ridiculous. And to put the icing on the cake, I chipped my freshly painted nail while cleaning cherry juice...my freshly painted bird finger. I don't know what it is with me and screwing up my bird finger, but I'm convinced it's fate's way of flipping me off.

In fact, I'm quite certain the whole event was fate saying, "Up yours virgin! I've got a whole lot planned for you this New Year." Cruel witch.

Fast-forward to the ball dropping hoopla--my mom insists on watching it every year. I usually try to escape the festivities, but it never works. I loathe all the kissing shots. And, HELLO, what's with the constant kissing TEN MINUTES after midnight! Classy. Get a room!!!

Though I do not drink, rare nights like these call for reinforcements, so I turned to Al K. Hall to help me out: ONE glass of wine, no more. I have ZERO tolerance. Heck, a glass and a half and I'm probably going to be taking my clothes off in some ridiculous version of a striptease. Can only assume that two full glasses would render me unconscious with face in toilet.

After said glass, I realized something: every year Dick Clark looks sexier and sexier to me.

Yes, one glass is quite enough.