Blonde Story Short

Good Lord, is it just me or is this December 97 days long???? I have been planning and planning (and buying and buying) for what seems like forever. For crying out loud, are we there yet?! I've got 4 cities and many a'peeps to see before midnight strikes on the 25th. The next day, I'll be hitting the "fresh pow" reeeeal good-that means I'll be skiing and also that I'm extremely athletic, obviously. The highlight of preparing for all of these upcoming festive treats was the 2 hour naked break down that took place on the floor of my bedroom Sunday afternoon. Stop imagining it, that's creepy. In an attempt to do some forward-packing, packing ahead of time if you will, I ended up uncontrollably crying due to the ski clothes I have, but could not locate. That seems totally worthy of an all out tantrum in the privacy of ones own 10X10 space, doesn't it? C'mon it's never about what it's "about" as some cynical males say in reference

but I refuse to be a part of it. Thanks to a loyal reader and friend, it was brought to my attention that my previous post was the equivalent of a 20-something male pretending he doesn't like you...confusing and sorta stupid. The last thing I want to do is be one of those vague writers (yea I just called myself a writer, deal with it) that thrives on making everyone guess what the frick she's talking about. Not about that. So, I will now clarify. See, you even know the next move, that's never happened. There are two life sitches going on that lead to my deep (like I should've been wearing a long cardigan and converse while writing) post on controlling situations...aka picking noses. The first is that while I am as blessed as ever to have my current occupation (benies, PTO, and all) I still would have never guessed, or even chosen with the knowledge I thought I had, to end up out of a classroom. I loved being a teacher, it's a part of my being ( it's who I am

You can pick your friends. And you can pick your nose. But you can't pick your friend's nose. (In my opinion, that depends on what kind of friends you have....I won't over think it) I've always thought this was a pretty punny saying. Word play-who doesn't love it? Like most common phrases that I try to repeat, I always screw this one up in some way. Usually I start with something like, "You can choose your friends..." you see where it goes astray. More important than not picking noses, I've been in thought, real deep thought ;) lately about not picking circumstances. While I'm a proponent of making life happen...doing what you gotta do...and all that, I realize as I get older that there is just $hit (it's a family site) that happens that we cannot pick our way out of. I constantly try to think of possible better outcomes if I (queen of the world) were given more control, in having to deal with a situation that seems so unnecessary and...not fu

that's what people are talking about when they say they took "E" right? Stay tuned...

I'm all for affirming others. I was a teacher who gave all my students "A's" for cryin out loud (most of them anyway). I think telling someone or being told by someone, how great they/you are is absolutely wonderful! I've even build an entire relationship on it. Calm down I'm kidding. What's really bugging me lately is the constant ooooogling that goes on publicly...not publicly like in the middle of Fresh & Easy, like really publicly; Hollywood. I may have written a few choice critiques one time on a little lady named Oprah. Her Harpo-rrific show is a prime example of a total oogling fest. This is all based on the episodes I've been forced into watching of course (OK I willingly watched her interview with Georgie W, what can I say I'm a sucker for a sweet smile and Republican values???) Moving on... Every time I watch (or am viciously tied up and given no choice but to do so), the Big O has one of her Hollywood besties on so they can yuck it

While I see the many practical and logistical reasons to shack, I will continue (until further notice) to remain a tenant in my Obcean apartment where I pay rent, utilities, Internet and cable. I am of course motivated by more than just the ghastly bills-the perks include but are not limited to guiltless enjoyment of trashy television without the standard male-I-can't-believe-you-watch-this exaggerated exhale during commercial breaks, and instead with a female companion who enjoys theses classic shows about the upper east side and precocious high schoolers even more than I, assuming that's possible. Bottom line: There'll be NO shacking. What occurs instead... It started out with a shelf. No, not a book shelf-you know I don't read. A shelf in the medicine cabinet. Running into a no deodorant nor toothbrush situation more than once results in the evolution of a girlfriend shelf. A pro, in addition to the obvious better hygiene: the skeevy yet casual "glancing" a

Some call it their private, some their wee (or the repetitive version: wee-wee) and if you're a part of my family...you call it The UNIT. Male, Female, makes no difference, you're dealing with The Unit. While the fact that we also call the remote control to the TV a "unit" can be confusing, generally it's a closed case if one can at all decipher context. In addition to the convenience of a unisex term, The Unit is ALL inclusive; encompassing but not limited to: the female internal organs (in addition to external), the source of all monthly irritability, and life for that matter, the place you're not allowed to kick Dad when you wrestle...all can be simplified as...The Unit. You can imagine my amusement (or perhaps a more accurate term, immaturity) when the meeting I scribed for all afternoon was about classes and "units." Really? To get that degree you need 78 UNITS ? That sure is a lot. I can barely figure out having one. That's hardcore. It ta

Ya know how there's that generalization about Mexican (or Italian) Catholic families going on for daaaaaaaays? Well, I no longer consider myself Catholic and am only 75% Mexican but...yea I got family for days. On Mother Theresa's side (really that's her name, I never said we weren't once Catholic) I'm one of approximately 50 cousins (translation: 50 primos). We sort of stopped counting after the 2nd cousins climbed to a whopping twenty five. And speaking of 25, being over that age and not having squeezed out a few...puts me behind. It's like I'm forever running the mile in PE...as a quarter-aged adult. One of my spectacular primos is Cuz Tom. You've heard of him before, if you keep up on Blonde like you should, and know that he is nothing short of entertaining...and smart (ladies?). After some love-stemmed badgering, I got Cuz Tom to join good 'ol Eharm. If you rolled your eyes or even shook your head in a disapproving (or maybe just bewildered)

In the mere two weeks I've been on the job (the job with benies and a fabulous office space, that is) I've realized a few things. I'll keep all of the details confined to my "Reflective, get to know myself deeper" journal and simply say this... I'm KINDA awkward While I pride myself on having polished social skills (humor me) I have found that in a work setting, like a real work setting, I sorta struggle. I can yuck it up all day with my fellow "assistant" level coworkers, but in conversation with the Steinbrenners of this place...this employee becomes awkwaaaaaaaaaard. It's as if I had sergeant-like parenting as a kid, leaving me intimidated by authority. So not the case. I mean, did YOU get to watch Melrose Place and Thirty Something at the age of nine? I think not. Anyway, I become nervous that I'll say something inappropriate or idiotic (not that it's completely out of the realm of possibility) to my boss or others that share her pr

Yea so I watch a lot of TV. I'm recovering, okay. I watched my beloved Tuesday night show, Glee this week. The boo's house is not the environment that nurtures my commentary on the episode's choice of Broadway tunes and fashion statements, like I thought it would be. We got through it. Well, he got through it, in reality. This week's episode was a little off putting for me. I don't consider myself a hiding-under-a-rock Christian (by any means really) and can tolerate, and even participate, in debauchery every now and then. However, this viewer tunes in to Glee because the innocence of the show and its subjects are well, refreshing. ..And I was a Thespian in High School, let's save this for another time. This week opened with an out of nowhere, out of line Shlessy scene. Generally I'm just fine with these. One of my Thursday night faves, Grey's Anatomy has had a lesbo story line for the last two seasons, am I abandoning this prime time medical soap op

I've said it before...this is not a "hey check out my life!" blog. If you feel compelled to check out my life you can see my facebook. Yea that's right I post pictures and a status update from time to time, what? That being said, I just can't refrain from an update-ish post...a sequel really, to last week's: I'm so happy I could vomit. This week I can lift my arms over my head. Yea. I can wash my hair and even reach for a bowl from the cupboard for my cereal in the morning. It's kindofa big deal. Lord knows I need the fiber these days. In addition to the development of my once T-Rex arm span, I don't have stitches anymore. Now I just have to keep myself from literally vomiting when I change my medical tape every 3 days in the shower. Barf. It'll all be worth it in the near future...once I can run around bra less (like all the other females in Ocean Beach) and get through a day without Extra Strength Tylenol and Law and Order reruns. I drove my

Seriously, I might vomit. I don't think most people would be as happy as I am right now, in my current state...let's keep in mind that I'm not most people. Up until 9:00 yesterday morning I had blood and "fluids" draining out of me. Literally out OF me, like there were tubes that resembled pink Twizzlers sutured into my trunk. It was the sides of my breasts really, but I find that using the word "trunk" makes people (like my father) more comfortable. So you're welcome. If you read often, or at least have jumped on the blonde train for the last two weeks, you know that I just got my taking-over-the-world chest....surgically reduced. I now claim a moderate D, or at least will once the swelling goes down. Dr. Lee of Del Mar you are a gem! For some reason this topic doesn't seem allowed as a public post, but with this excitement (or pain killers) brewing inside me, I just can't help but yell it from my world wide web rooftop! The last three days

Sometimes some people watch some TV when they're unemployed. That's just what I've heard. While it's probably wrong to coin myself as UE, the 25 hours a week I grace the yacht club with my terrible attitude just don't feel like a real, full-time job. My fellow servers and bartenders love it when I say that. They don't think it's rude and offensive at all. Actually the fact that I receive unemployment (technically legal since I did lose my full-time gig and report my yachty earnings) isn't at all annoying to them either. Anyhoo, back to my recent favorite ack., TV. I've been really reaping the benefits (since I don't have any other benefits) of my AT&T Uverse account. Whodathought spending a hundo a month on mind numbing distractions would come in so darn handy? Because of this TV dazed stage of my life, I have developed some opinions (weird I know) about some certain programs: 1. If I have to see or hear the commercials for Oprah's fina

Like the Indian man sitting next to me on my recent flight said... There's something maternal about me. While my initial reaction was to assume he meant I was fat, I quickly turned my emotions to that of appreciation. I'm almost certain it was a compliment, I'll be taking it as such regardless. Currently, I have friends, a boo and most importantly a blog to nurture with my said "motherly instincts." Oddly enough, the less structured life is for me, the less time I find to take care of my very important (and necessary for the sake of my sanity and overall friendliness)Blog Baby. Note: Blog Baby is blonde just like someday my human baby will be. Isn't that precious. While the current thoughts that go round and round up here need to debut ASAP...I will not be doing that quite yet. I will however be reminding Blog Baby that I love her (meaning you, reader) and will be gracing her with my nonsense soon ;) Much love.

Ya know that one friend who claims that one really learns about herself when in a romantic relationship? Things like what her strengths are, her weaknesses (a topic I don't care to learn more about, personally) and so on and so on... I don't hate on the relationship loving friend, and especially not any of her theories. Clearly I appreciate the effort it takes to come up with one and then attempt selling it to others to boot! I have learned something very recently about myself, thanks to my current oh-so-insightful Man Friend (My MF if you will). It turns out that there is something I do during very inappropriate times, something that should generally be done... in private at night and if your love life is anything like mine often is...by yourself. SLEEP MF observed and pointed out that I might possibly be a narcoleptic: one that "suffers" from sudden, uncontrollable deep sleep. His substantial evidence included that many of my "anecdotes" I share begin wi

that I could put ALL my eggs in? 'Cause that's what I do with my eggs...or job related hopes and efforts in this case. With every new prospect, I find myself under a very certain (and overly confident) assumption that I will a) GET the position and b) joyfully remain with the prospective company for years to come, moving up the ladder and retiring with enough saved to spend my post fifty days party planning and shopping for shoes. While the practical side of me kicks in and insists I continue my search and "networking" (probably my least fave thing to do, after babysitting in a dirty house) I half-ass attempt applying for other positions although I just know it's a waste of my precious time since I'm clearly going to be offered said former position that obviously offers a hefty salary, pension and reasonable Health benies. Can you guess what happens next? Similar to the other "shoe being dropped," the bottom of my basket instead drops, leaving al

I wrote a post when Blondestoryshort was just a baby (now she's a toddler...but hopefully not in the terrible two's stage) that was titled, "To teach or not to teach," as that was the current question. And here I am again, asking the same damned thing. Much like the past two summers I'm left wondering what the FRICK I'm going to do in the fall. Isn't it just great that teachers, those supposedly molding our future generations, have the least stable positions of anyone? I'll postpone jumping on my Soap box for another time, my archaic computer may not live long enough for all that I have to "share" on that subject. After being totally screwed this past year (that topic not being postponed but rather omitted altogether) I'm seriously considering leaving the education "industry." I quote the word as its run unlike any other industry in the world...leaving all professionalism aside for some reason or another. The endless job opti

are easy when they involve nice wine and fancy dinners. Upon being a part of one for over five (ish) months, the things a young couple starts to do are a little different. What started out as a trip to Cancun, somehow became a back country camping expedition through Yosemite. If you're anything like myself, you don't even know what that means...Well, I'll tell you (since as of seven days ago I now know, in a major way). Back country camping means camping withOUT things like an established camp site's standard amenities (like a bathroom) and food with its natural hydration in place. Instead one survives on his own water filtration system and indulging in baby wipe wipe-downs and instant coffee, close seconds to showers and REAL coffee. While these aren't really indulgences (unless you chose hot chocolate over the coffee like one particularly clever blonde) they do make ones camping experience quite exciting. And how could I leave out the twenty-two mile hike part?!

I find myself really making use of this two word combo lately. If I were 60 years older I could tack on an "all" at the end or really go nuts and sub "you" for "it!" All these emotions (that are related to a career hault and result in outdated cursing phrases) have me girling out as well. Try not to judge me when I share that the following came out of my mouth this morning... "Don't you wish we had time to just cuddle for another half hour? I hate nannying (pause thirty seconds) Damn it." I'm upset with life for a few reasons: 1) I'm so NOT stoked on my job that i've become the woman that wants to lie in bed all day and 2) while I'm making that "under the table" cash, I'm going completely insane in the process. Damn it's come out when finally a long walk turns into both children sleeping and then loud neighbor slams her trunk or let's her dogs bark incesently. Damn it's fly when I realize it's 5:

and by "the man" I mean the mom. Guess who tried to start a revolution at the park today? That would be me. Being a socialite (not rich by any means, but devoted to have a life of socializing) makes the crowded park days a TREAT for this nanny. I could not have been more excited when I saw Nina and later, Marie roll up with their double strollers today. Why wouldn't I want to chat it up with my Austrian and Mexican colleagues on this gorgeous July afternoon?! With my toddler fast asleep and only one child to monitor...life doesn't get much better these days. Of course the three of us discussed our particular "situations. " Don't underestimate the power of commonalities crossing language barriers. As a wanna-be-Mexican myself, practicing the 'ol Espanol was not something I was not willing to pass up...my German could use some work though. Nina has become more like a NANA to her two children and Marie is here on a visa, attempting to live the dream.

Here's the thing... Babysitting is clearly a glorious position to hold, everybody knows that...need I mention "under the table" again? The problem is that not all children are cute and cuddly, although I plan to bear some of my own someday (like in 7 months, I'm kidding) that will possess both said qualities. Some children that you babysit, "you" meaning me, are actually not that cute and sometimes smell as well. My set childcare gig, twenty-five hours a week thank you very much (bragging), includes two adorable little babes...thank God. The random "shifts" I'm picking up from time to time thanks to my Alma mater's "Job Board," do not. While my total obsessive compulsiveness (mostly in regards to clean surroundings) makes me want to burst into various adjectives on the topic, I will refrain, and stick with one: Stinky. Okay two: Stinky and Dirty. Ask any teaching professional I've worked with and they'll tell you I am o

It's very probable that for the next month or so this blog will leave its usual topics (random crap and men?) and transform into one that reflects material similar to that of The Nanny Diaries. Damn my current sitch. Although I have the blessing of a salary and bene's until the end of the month (isn't that nice) I am currently and technically unemployed. I will refrain from getting into all the reasons I should NOT be in this situation (going off on a former female boss is not fun for anyone, nor the point of "Nanny Diaries") and instead focus on what this means for me currently. Attempting the whole forward thinking thing (an ongoing journey) has me taking part in the glorious world of childcare. If I make millions in the month of July, August may not be disastrous, obvi. I feel like a young girl again...19 and stoked for an under the table ten bucks an hour. By the way I find the mentioning of the "under the table" part to be very significant. Sort of

This week I'm babysitting...a dog. Notice I didn't say dog sitting. The first time I watched her she was a puppy, an "untrained" puppy. That means she did her business all over my apartment, for an entire week. The positive reinforcement give-her-a-treat-when-rarely pooping-outside trick was not successful. Since I was teaching a two week Yoga and writing course at the time, with flexible hours, I figured the availability to come home at lunch, take her back to school with me etc would make for an easy week. False. As those of you who've followed my previous dating life have already concluded, I'm not too quick of a learner. And so, I committed to babysitting this dog again. I'm on Summer break, why wouldn't I have a dog with me...all day long? One that is no longer under 20 pounds especially. In the past 24 hours I've decided I should NEVER have a dog because of the following reasons: 1. The noise created by said dog chewing a bone makes me wa

to totally hate men? I'm almost hoping that upon reading the first line, you immediately rolled your eyes or said something like "ah geez" under your breath. I know. This does not come from a bitter, I just got dumped kind of place, quite the contrary. I am actually quite pleased with the male suitor in my life. In fact I'll let ya in on a little secret, I'm on the LOVE train. This is a great thing to remind me of when I'm in my dark place...listening to Fiona Apple and painting my nails a shade of deep purple. I bring this up because I am overwhelmed with how true I STILL find this statement. I found myself texting a girlfriend (a like minded one) yesterday... "Hey wanna meet up for lunch and talk about how we hate men?" Her reply... "Sure." While the end of our lunch date did NOT leave us settling on the idea of storming out on our men and becoming life partners, we did discuss how frustrating we find dealing with males to be! Throughout

Lately it's been a rough one...I'm steering clear of calling it a rough week , because for this particular pocket of my world, it's been a rough 6 months. Boo. As mentioned before, I'm the kid at work who has to prove herself. YAY! Yes I know that I am practically still a tween, but having graduated college almost five years ago, I HAVE HAD JOBS before now. Crazy right? The school loans and rent have been paid for the last 1/2 decade, really. Anywho... without that information being known or acknowledged, I have become the "new" teacher who might be (or very clearly will be in some opinions, like my own) good enough to give a classroom next year. Although it is still strangely unclear whether or not this will be offered to this deserving and qualified teacher, I am offended that the choice is not more obvious. That being said, last week I was called a terrible name, one that is the worst than any of the others known world wide by their first letter. I was c

What is it about going to the Dentist that makes you feel so good at life? Although I don't manage to abide by the "cleaning every six months" rule (boring), going once every 13 still makes my chest puff up just a little bit. And yes I meant 13 months, not 12. I fall short of the just a little bit of a slacker "once a year cleaning" just slightly. Gotta keep Point Loma Family Dental on their toes. Lord knows I try to be faithful in my dental commitments but like most others in my life, being just a little behind is so very comfortable! Is it comfortable or familiar ? I did learn the mere difference very recently. hmmm. Deep. I was lectured on the typical lack of flossing, which I assume most have heard at least a time or two. The hygienist found it necessary to not only give me the lecture (ya know the whole your gums wouldn't be gushing blood right now if you actually flossed once in a while talk), but also gave me a full blown lesson on how to floss. Th

Have you seen any of the "Oprah's favorite things" shows? Now that I think about it, there's even an established "Club" for books the big-O multimillionaire likes. Is it possible there is a conspiracy to push this female's agenda onto us? What do you take us for, Harpo? I personally refuse to buy a new line of skincare sold only at "Bloomy's" and will NOT be purchasing a Prius any time soon, OK. Rude. That's like pushing all one's opinions (on mostly a few key topics) onto others through the vessel of a blog or something. Who does that? One of Sara's favorite things, in a non you-should-like-it-too kinda way, is surprises. I don't understand the people in this world (most) who say they hate surprises. What? Why? That blanket, and bold with the use of the "H" word, statement must mean that one doesn't even enjoy fun surprises! "You weren't expecting it, but I just bought you a brand new car! You get

Recently I "drafted" a blog titled Poked and Prodded . Unfortunately it did not make it to the posting phase. This happens from time to time, I begin a piece (sounds fancy right?) and then "save now" it, in hopes that I'll finish/edit later and be able to proudly move to the "Publish Post." Doesn't always happen. In this case, I peaced out completely on P and P and at this time have revamped and can tell you even more about my exciting doctor adventures! It started out with an Urgent care, ER, Primary Care, GI jont. While most of you can eat a bacon and egg breakfast sandwich, turns out I cannot. On top of my usual constant unexplainable dull achy stomach, I had some pains that were pure evil a few weeks back. Come to find out, I may have even passed a gallstone during that 4 hour sesh, says my Gastro interologist, Sally. My dreams of four little grommets running around one day was almost a nightmare. Getting pretty unraveled I may have spouted

I've actually found someone that I want to go on dates with, introduce to the friends and fam (a standard panel of judges of course), and even let call me his girlfriend??? Question marks are necessary as I still am confused by the whole thing. Statements like, "Seriously, what am I gonna do with you?" often escape my mouth. Yes. It's true. Not that I'm one of THOSE girls (the ones I've made fun of, a time or two) but I do in fact now have (drum roll please)...a BF. The abbreve is just way too hard to resist. Although no one else thinks anything of it, the idea of being one of those goofy girls that's referring to their gentleman caller as "my boyfriend!" all the time, makes my eyes effortlessly roll in a clockwise manner. Looks like that whole High Maintenance thing panned out. It seems being "HM" causes a sifting effect...sifting through the definitely-not-gonna-happen's and the maybe-I'll-let-you-buy-me-another-meal's...a

What did you do on this beautiful, Spring afternoon? Oh me? (answered a totally hypothetical individual) Well, I purchased some MiraLax. Just a typical day. MiraLax is a laxative for those of you that aren't in the know...and/or don't have bowel issues. After a week of stomach problems, this is what it has come to. Shoulder to shoulder with other elderly women in Isle seven of Rite aid. All generously throw out smiles. I mean really, without a good BM in your life, a smile from a stranger goes a long way...I'd imagine. It's amazing how much attention one will give to creating an environment for this natural (yet sometimes supplementally simulated) action to occur. Some even stay home from their occupations, on Friday afternoons? Like text messages are sent... "Yea I can come over in about an hour. Gotta pick up the laundry, run a quick errand and wait for this laxative to do its thang." (This sort of message should clearly be sent out in the form of a "b

It is actually Earth Week 2010, dually note. I haven't been writing (a catastrophe for us all) due to the utter chaos going on this week. It's difficult to recap all of the "note worthy" situations, maybe because of the Vicodin I've recently ingested? This week I've been driving (more honestly, I've been speeding) back and forth between school... and the bar. Obviously closely related professions. Yes, I have returned to the world of sailors and fishermen, and their cackling wives duh. The most convenient part of balancing these two acts this week was having to taste all the new varietals on the wine list right before heading back for a meeting vital to keeping our educational institution accredited in the state of California. Always willing to be versatile. There is a method to my madness...not just attempting to give myself an ulcer, more like a gallbladder issue actually. The method is this: If I want to pay off my arch enemies Mr. Express and Platinum

is it so hard to come back to work after Spring Break?!?! I know I have no right (or every right I haven't decided) to complain, since most adults don't get what us old schoolers call "Easter Break" past college. However, I will tell you what I tell my roommate and everyone else who loathes me for having a coveted schedule... Well, then why don't YOU go get your credential (by taking 38 tests and another ridiculous number of classes that don't do anything for your teaching skills except make you more patient), then you can have lack of job security and a less than average pay...and get a Spring Break. I did mention I LOVE my job right? I like to start out the first-morning-back by looking through my planner, flipping pages, writing things down, basically planning to do things...instead of actually doing things. Seems productive. What have I accomplished? Duh. I've written three very necessary emails, responded to a planner-related facebook message (you&

I'm sure that since you're all such loyal and frequent readers (insert corny wink here) you've already read about my hatred for soccer previously. In this post, I'll try not to get into all the loathe-worthy characteristics about the sport. Things like having to pretend you want the ball when really you couldn't care any less about it (Picture a game right now...Everyone screaming, "I'm open I'm open! Pass it!" Getting excited when the ball last hits the other team member's foot, leaving lucky us to get the ball and throw it back onto the field!) I also won't talk about how in every other situation in life we dodge a ball flying at our head, and in soccer we hope for it and use it as a strategy...what?! The reason I bring up the ridiculous sport today is because of how useful I realize it can be...at getting you out of trouble, and even making you sound legit. I take no credit for this discovery and in fact want to give all the credit (wher

Date #1 Attractive. fewf. Witty. check. Successful. that's cool. Great first date stats. The missing links, two very important things: real conversation...and dinner. I suggested Old Venice, a charming local Italian restaurant, for a reason...because I was in the mood for a fancy pizza! I totally get the non-committal "let's get a drink thing." I use it all the time! But the whole point of that move is to have the peace-out-early opportunity if the date is going south. If you're staying for another 2 hours anyway, in my humble and almost expert opinion-dinner is a must. Letting that slide I suppose (until home to left over Indian food at 9:30 at night!) I say nothing. I don't want to be that girl, the one that's possibly disinterested but wants a free meal. I am quite the fan of banter; likely unqualified as a dating pro, but most definitely a banter pro! My general attitude, bring it on. Until I have had enough! Then I'll throw a few more zingers at

does it take to describe the blockbuster hit Avatar? "What's Avatar? " "What do you live under a rock? Only the biggest movie in the last 30 years!" "Why?" "Because of the...technology!" "So it's a technical cartoon...like A Bug's life ?" "Yes. That's right. It's like A Bug's life ."

With so much to report on the dating front, I struggle to maintain a focal point. You see, there's an epic battle that goes on in my head (among others): to write on one topic and stay (or at least appear) focused OR to throw it all out there and allow you to experience a sufficient part of the mayhem. In attempt to get to bed at a reasonable hour and less selfishly, protect YOU from establishing an overwhelming disdain for the topic at hand...I will stick to just one thing: The latin man with which I ate a shrimp ceasar. On the third of my 4 dates in four days (shout out to the world wide web) I set out on a latin themed adventure. We met at a Mexican restaurant in...you guessed it, Pacific Beach. The crazy part is that I chose the location, and we know how I feel about PB. On my way to the beloved beach town, running late naturally, I sped through neighborhoods and quickly took in the obscene amount of Beer Pong being played. That's neither here nor there I suppose. A lovely

really terrible...or really, really good at this. I refer to dating. Let me disclaim right off the bat, that I do not rely on my own strength in this area. No, this is not a biblical reference...I currently rely on 29 dimensions that are bigger than I...it's called "online-dating." Lord, seeing that hyphened word in print is just shameful! Welp, got over the shame pretty quickly, feeling alright now... This week I scheduled what I like to call a "Dating Quadruple bypass." The expectation is I'll bypass at least three of the four dates. Nonetheless, Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday night all include a beautiful thing...free dinner. I'll be doing a real-life, unscripted version of The Bachelor. I definitely won't be telling any of them that I'm "following my heart" or "falling in love with more than one of them"...or any statement involving the word "journey." Instead, I'll be attempting authenti