Word Perv

She picked up on the second ring and had barely said hello when I launched into my tirade, “Okay so I’ve got on my favorite skirt and knee-high boots but suddenly I’m not sure about the top. Do I really want to wear a sweater? What if it’s hot at the concert? What I had on before showed just a hint of cleavage but I changed and now I’m reconsidering once again…”

“Oh my god you scared me! I was online trying to log into NetFlix but I typed it in wrong and porn popped up right as the phone rang and suddenly I felt like I’d been busted doing something wrong!”

I laughed, leave it to my best friend to immediately diffuse the situation. “Now,” she continued, “Let’s go over your outfit again. And are you really nervous? You’re never nervous before a date…”

“No, I’m not nervous, just had a sudden girl-moment where I doubted my outfit. Hold on,” I said, putting the phone down and pulling my shirt over my head, grabbing my first outfit choice and then picking the phone back up. “Okay, I’m going with the original.”

She laughed, “Have fun, I want details tomorrow.”

*****

“You look nice,” he said as he walked in the door. Off we headed to the concert I’d snagged tickets to. We talked the whole way, then settled into seats and ordered a beer (yes, I know I’m not supposed to be drinking, but one Blue Moon won’t affect my race performance!).

The concert was great. When Bob Schneider took the stage for the encore and encouraged - no demanded - that everyone get up and dance to his last song, Tarantula, we complied - dancing and laughing and spinning around. “I’m no match for you,” he said as we spun, “but everyone’s jealous of my dance partner…”

The concert ended but we decided we weren’t ready for the date to end. Since it was nearly 11pm and most restaurants are closed we headed to the only thing open 24 hours a day - a diner.

We both ordered breakfast, because at 11pm on a Wednesday night date, the only thing you should be eating is breakfast. We talked over eggs and grits (me) and eggs and ham (him).

Pulling up in front of my house he said, “We should go out again, I owe you a night on the town…”

“That sounds good,” I replied. Then I kissed him.

*****

In bed just after midnight I fell fast asleep, only to get caught in a dream that featured myself, #6, the one I lost, and #9 all hanging out together. Bizarro. And slightly awkward.

After getting chastised for not doing my part to bolster the economy, I would like to announce that I’m back in the swing of things, for this evening I have a date! Oh yes dear friends, it’s onto Bachelor #9.

It’s hard to believe I’ve dated eight guys since moving to northern Virginia in July. Of course I use the term “date” quite loosely, for there are some who only made it one date, some who never even got that far, and only one who made it more than a couple of weeks. So to say I “dated” eight men is not exactly true. But nonetheless, I’ve got a date with #9 tonight.

Recently a friend told me that perhaps if I stopped blogging about the guys I go out with I might have a better shot of dating one on a more long-term basis. I laughed and shrugged it off. Later though I gave it some more thought: How does my blog affect my life? And does this really factor into my potential relationships?

After reflecting on it for a while, this is my conclusion: this blog is a part of me. I know some may  think it’s a silly little website where I get to ramble and rant and rave and that is certainly true. But it also provides me with the creative outlet I so desperately need (because dear god I sit in a fucking office all day starting at a white wall and crunching numbers and metrics and parameters and I fucking went to grad school for this?!). And as my readership grows and grows and grows, you, my beloved readers, expect this from me. You expect to hear about my life and its happenings, which right now means reading about the dates I go on. And though it may not seem to be the case, the truth of the matter is I’m very cautious about what I write here. I am open and honest, but I also keep some things to myself. I don’t share all the details. Just the things I comfortable with others knowing.

And so anyone who decides to brave these waters and date me has to realize that at some point he’ll make this blog. He’ll be talked about. Our dates and things said will be written for thousands to read, with some details left out of course. He’ll have to be okay with it. If he’s not, then perhaps he’s not someone I want to date.

This is me, take it or leave it.

A sincere thank you to all those who serve.

The countdown is on! In less than a week, I’ll be running the Richmond Marathon! I’ve trained hard and I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. Which means this last week before the race there is little I can do other than rest.

My mellow weekend started Friday night when a friend and I went to see the amazing William Fitzsimmons in concert. It was a great show, though it went late.  Since I didn’t sleep well the night before, I passed out the instant my head hit the pillow, and this was even after having two lattes during the concert (can’t drink alcohol this week so I substituted caffeine, more on that in a minute).

Saturday I slept in (yay!), well my version of sleeping in that is. Daisy woke me at 7am, needing to go out, so we headed out for our usual loop and after feeding her I climbed back into bed for another two hours of needed sleep. Upon waking and having my standard cup(s) of coffee, I headed out for my last long training run before the race (time to taper, so I only ran 14 miles). It was incredibly warm for a November day, but my run felt good and when I got home I discovered I had tan lines from the sun. Haha! My pace was decent too, coming in just 5 seconds over my desired race pace. After running to the grocery store I settled into the couch with Daisy and some episodes of Sex in the City. Later that night a friend came over with a movie and pizza and we camped out on my couch.

Sunday brought a relatively lazy morning with the usual coffee and Sunday paper routine. Daisy and I went to the park for a bit, then I hit yoga where we practiced splits and headstands (always a fun time, though it makes it sound like I’m a fucking cheerleader. Disgusting!). Back home I did some random things around the house (laundry, cleaning) before once again curling up on the couch with my dog and relaxing a bit.

I was very successful this weekend with following my pre-race regiment. In addition to relaxing, I am also avoiding sugar, dairy and alcohol. While I greatly enjoy these foods on a normal basis, when it comes to racing these things don’t always agree with my body. Many runners suffer the same ill - their bodies just go into hyper drive and start processing everything put into them. Definitely not what you want during a race, so I avoid this trifecta of sweet goodness for the week leading up to a race.

Suddenly the thought of going without a beer or a glass bottle of wine for an entire week seems like an incredibly difficult task. And yes, I am well aware this last statement makes me sound like a raging lush. I’m okay with it, I embrace this truth.

The rest of the week will be more of the same - relaxing, watching my diet, stretching and getting my rest. I’ll hit yoga again and also do a light 10-mile run this week, but other than that, nothing intense. I’ll be in bed early to ensure I’m fully rested for Saturday’s big event. This is it. I can do little more to prepare myself for the race.

The countdown is on people - wish me luck!

I’m not a huge fan of the new James Bond movies. I thought the last one was mostly crap and I’m not all that impressed with Daniel Craig’s version of the character. Call me crazy, but nothing beats Sean Connery in this role, though I did also like Pierce Brosnan as Mr. Bond. And yet, when the Washington Post ran this picture I knew I simply had to do it too:

In all honesty though, it was the caption that convinced me to post it:

(If you can’t read it, click on the picture and it’ll open it in your browser so you can read it. It’s worth reading people.)