chicle! chicle!

I learned an interesting fact from my friend that works for the company that makes my favorite gum... the Hispanic market accounts for 25% of the U.S. gum consumers.

It's no secret that I'm a gumaholic.

What a lot of people may not know is that I am quarter Mexican... you see the craving for chicle is in my blood...

So, when my friend invited me to a latin music concert sponsored by her company I jumped at the opportunity to find my straight Ricky Martin and to stuff my clutch with free gum samples!!

As the venue started to fill up I quickly realized that my Ricky probably was not in this crowd... I was surrounded mostly by Latina groupies who knew what I had no clue about... the headliner bands had some really good looking men. I have to be honest... I was more intrigued by the women around me than I was the musicians (a little too much of a "queso" factor for my taste) but these women provided fantastic people watching.

These chicas miraculously squeezed their curvy bodies in to the tiniest and tightest of dresses without a hint of slimming undergarments. That 75% white girl in me would never even dream of donning such a costume without extra strength Spanx, dim lighting and a few glasses of wine. I watched with admiration as these girls teetered on their stilettos with fiery confidence. They danced like a refrigerator magnet... you know the one... "dance like no one is watching" blah blah blah. It was a zest for life that came from the inside. They were sexy, spicy, adorable, and I wanted to be just like them.

But wait, I am Latina... at least 25% of me is...

I'm not sure why some of us allow the daily grind of life to dull our spirit. Heart break, exhaustion, disappointments, cultural influences and struggle over the years can quench our inner light. It just doesn't make any sense to rob ourselves of the joy that comes from living "la vida loca."

Trust me... I won't be squeezing my body in to colorful elastic tubes anytime soon... or ever, but I did find their body confidence and passion inspirational. I decided I needed to take a few notes from my little Latina sisters and let more of my true self shine.

After all... who doesn't want to exude spicy sensuality?

So, today as I sit here on my couch in my blogging uniform, which is a tank top and underwear, I decide to spice it up with a big white gardenia hair clip. And tomorrow morning I am going to my first Rumba dance class.

Olé!

Crushes

I have a serious crush.

I am head-over-heals for a beautiful pair of Christian Louboutin booties I found at Barneys in Chicago last weekend. I can't stop thinking about them... so cute... we would make an amazing couple.

I am also crushing on some fabulous over the knee Frye boots as well. It's fall and I am surrounded by super hot shoes... super hot guys, not so much.

It's that wonderful time of the year and my heart skips a beat as I catch a glimpse of the new military jackets, jeggings, and shoes, shoes, shoes.

The good news is it's fall... the bad news is it's fall.

The summer flew by... we almost didn't have one. I am believing that summer is the new fall, but that doesn't stop 2010 from slipping thru my fingers.

Sure, I began this quest believing that by the time fall came around I would be practicing my signature with my new surname... but don't think for a second I've given up hope...

Sometimes crushes are safer when they aren't real. I know that my checking account would have a hard time recovering from giving in to my crush on those booties, and sometimes giving in to a crush on the wrong guy can be a devastating choice as well. But as I leave behind a season of flings and fun adventures, I enter this new season more open to the risk of crushing on someone... maybe I will fall in love.

Hey, wouldn't those Louboutins looks fabulous with a wedding dress?

Typing 101

When you're single the most annoying question people ask you is of course, "why are you single?" The second most annoying question is, "what is your type?" I can honestly say that I don't really have a clear cut type other than the guy has to be sexy. And I'm not sure exactly if that can even be classified as a type because this can come in all shapes, colors and sizes, so-to-speak and means something different to everyone. Sure... I have my preferences... and I have a few friends who think they know what my type is, although I have yet to have any of them track down the allusive wileygirl type and set me up... which could (lightbulb) be a good topic for another post...

I have recently discovered something even more annoying than being asked one of these two questions. I have been "dating" someone for the past 4ish months... (time out- let me first define "dating" as nothing serious, but definitely consistent)... anyway, almost every time I'm with this guy he feels the need to mention what type of girl he likes to date or typically falls in love with. You guessed it... he never describes anybody remotely like me and sometimes he describes the exact opposite of what he told me he liked the week before. Confusing, but mostly very annoying. I'm not exactly sure if he really doesn't know what he is looking for, is surprised that he is attracted to me because I'm not his usual type, or if he is trying to make sure I know that he doesn't want anything serious between us. But what has to be the most annoying thing about all of this is for some reason I'm completely intrigued and feel the need to solve this mystery.

Currently this is an on going riddle that I have yet to crack.

I have, however, made some discoveries about myself, my dating history... and maybe even my type. Mr. "Not-my-type" has made me think about the fact that, at least when it comes to the guys I have dated over the past decade, I am really not any of their types. I have realized that I am not messed up enough for them to save or prude enough to fulfill their madonna fantasy of a pure wife/mom. We all know there is an exception to every guy's rules which is hotness, and I'm not hot enough to over ride either of these "types".

For the most part it seems I am a serial saver dater. "They" say women are always trying to fix men...but let me tell you, there are an awful lot of "sexy" men out there who are on the market for a fixer-upper. I'm not sure exactly what it is about these men... insecurity, control, displaced liberalism... who knows, but I have come in second place to many a hot mess.

I suppose you can add "saver" to my "type" list, but not only is that about as vague and broad as sexy, it's also ridiculous. I'm not going to suddenly develop a case of the crazies so bad that one of these men is going to swoop into my life and rescue me in to the sunset.

So, I've thought about it and I'm adding a few more adjectives to my definite type list: sexy is still a must, hangability, genuine, secure, and most importantly looking for a wileygirl.

Confessions of a Teenage Beauty Queen

As I was looking in the mirror this morning, the open bathroom window that was merely supposed to bring in a cool morning breeze was also bringing in the sound of names over a bad sound system followed by cheers and applause.

It must be graduation at the high school down the street.

It hit me, as I was slathering a generous heap of anti-wrinkle cream across my forehead, that I graduated from high school exactly 25 years ago.

It's not that it made me feel really old or depressed, I was just a little shocked that I've hit such a milestone.

Well, ok, I lied... it did make me feel kind of old, which was maybe a little depressing...

As I listened to the names reverb through the school district speakers, I started thinking about my senior year and began to consider how much of that girl is still who I am now.

If you ignore the world-is-going-to-end teenage moments like showing up to the senior prom and another girl has the exact same dress on, (please note this is never good, but my high school was SUPER small so it was an extra big fashion disaster), or the time I missed curfew and found my mother sitting in a chair right behind the front door, or the time my shoe came untied during a pep rally while I was performing a cheerleading dance routine, then I have to say... my senior year was pretty magical...

I was a cheerleader, although I really sucked at it because I thought jumping around yelling at people to get excited about watching our mediocre football team get trampled by bigger kids from bigger schools was kind of lame... especially when it was freezing cold outside. But being a cheerleader truly rocked... because you know, those super cute skirts! I was editor-in-chief of the yearbook which might sound geeky but I loved making creative decisions and most of all being in charge. My boyfriend of course, was the popular local rock star who was a whole 35 minutes away at college. He came home every weekend and his band would play at an old pig ranch in the middle of nowhere and we'd make out in his car. Good times. To top it all off I reigned as queen of the town having been named Miss Wrightwood the summer before my senior year.

Like I said... magical.

I've only been back to my alma mater stomping grounds a handful of times since graduation. My parents moved away and the majority of my high school friends and I got out of that small town and stayed out. And then Facebook happened.

I've had coffee with a high school friend in Chicago, drinks with another girlfriend in San Jose and even attended a mini multi-class reunion in Las Vegas. And a couple months ago I got the Facebook invite to see that same high school BF reunite with the boys for a gig at the Yodeler. Of course I had to go... hopeful that an evening spent with old flames and crushes would provide marvelous material for my blog. But instead of leaving with a spicy story, I just came away from that night with a grateful heart. I realized how much the people I grew up with influenced who I am today... I felt grounded and connected to a place I thought I didn't belong to anymore.

Anyway... how much of that girl is still me? Well, I still make decisions based upon how cute the clothes are, I make my living as a creative director, I'm still wildly attracted to artistic boys be it musicians, writers, actors, photographers... So it turns out the only thing that I've left in my past is that tiara.

Well, actually I still have it... I just keep it tucked away in a safe place. It cracked years ago and while still in one piece, it's really fragile.

Click.

Somehow over the years I think I've lost some of that care-free confidence that allowed me to enter and win that contest. I don't need rhinestones any more, but I need to work on rediscovering some of that inner sparkle. I would also like to look that fabulous in a bathing suit again. Yes... there was a bathing suit competition involved...

6 (pack) Reasons to watch World Cup Soccer

So, I'm not a soccer fan but I think I'm coming down with World Cup Fever. Turns out there are some very good reasons to tune in... Here are my top six:

6. There's an app for that. There actually IS a World Cup app that yes, I did indeed download to my iPhone that tells me schedules, scores, and whatever I need to know or more importantly what some hot guy I meet might want to know. I'm pretty sure this makes me a super cool chick.

5 .Goal Celebrations. The passion and energy from the fans and players is crazy. Unfortunately, it is now against FIFA rules for a player to remove his shirt to celebrate a goal... but I keep watching hoping someone will risk a yellow card in exchange for a flash of those abs.

4. You don't really need to know what's going on. It's like watching fireworks... you just have to ooohh, aahh and oh pretty much whenever you want and you'll fit right in with everyone around. Goals only happen a handful of times in the entire 90 min of play so it's pretty obvious when to be enthusiastically ecstatic or disappointed... hand gestures are helpful. The tricky part is figuring out what team to root for...

3. It's Cosmopolitan. For one month you can embrace an international camaraderie and exuberance for a sport that brings the whole world together. It's also a sport that is much more fun to watch with other people, especially if they aren't American. I've got my local Italian place where guys will scream, cry, throw things at the TV... it's crazy! I have no idea what they're screaming, but of course anything sounds amazing in Italian.

2. The players are unbelievably hot. In fact it might even be a rule that you have to be hot to play soccer. The best part is that they are completely unobstructed by cumbersome helmets and padding. OOOOH LA LA!

1. Hot guys watch soccer. And hot guys watch soccer en masse. Morning, noon or night whenever the games are on, restaurants/bars are packed with gorgeous men. Fit, gorgeous men.

So, for the next month I will pretend like it doesn't annoy me that you can end a game all tied-up, and instead enjoy my lunchtime field trips to local pubs where I can enjoy the views. Maybe one of these adventures will help me reach my GOOOOAAAAALLLLLL!!!!!!!!!

"Screw Cupid"

I read "Screw Cupid: the sassy girl's guide to picking up hot guys" primarily because of the title and the hot pink cover.

Written by Samantha Scholfield, this second book on the one wiley girl book review is supposed to teach girls how to make the first move.

She starts the book by recounting her personal dating journey...taking matters in to her own hands after realizing she wasn't getting hit on because she had a flat chest. Uhm, ok. After describing one humiliating cream-pie-in-the-face pick-up attempt after another, she comes to the conclusion that it's best to pretend you just want some very important information from a dude. For example if they have the time, or my personal favorite from her arsenal of pick up lines, whether guys think Angelina Jolie is hot because knowing this information will settle a debate you're having with a friend of yours. Ugh...

Her point is that if you approach a guy he will instantly think you want to have sex with him and that will cause him to instantly blow you off. Huh? Somehow asking a neutral question puts a guy more at ease and magically makes you more attractive. In my opinion it could also make you more annoying... take this Seinfeldesque opener she suggests you use when approaching a group of men at a bar:

"YOU: Hey, guys, tell me something: What is the deal with guys and the remote? I was over at my girlfriend's house earlier with a bunch of guys to watch the game. Every time the commercials came on, they freaked out if we tried to change the channel. What is the deal with that?

THEM: blah blah blah

YOU: What is it, exactly, they think girls are going to do with the remote?

THEM: blah blah blah

YOU: How do you expect girls to learn how to use your crazy-ass remote system if you guys are always hanging on to it? How good would you get programming the TiVo if girls always did it for you?

THEM: blah blah blah

YOU: We have this guy friend who bought Tivo a year ago, and we've hardly seen him since. What's the deal with that? It's like he's found a spouse.

THEM: blah blah blah"

"blah, blah blah"? I'm not sure why she doesn't tell us what the guys were saying but I'm guessing it's because they were probably just staring at her with a WTF? look on their faces, or they were busy winding up to hurl another chocolate cream pie in her face.

Ultimately her point is dating is a numbers game, so odds are if you approach enough men eventually one will be charmed by your Jedi mind trick chatter.

OK... I agree that it's good to put yourself out there... to be friendly and talk to guys instead of waiting around for someone to talk to you. I'm working on that because I am horrible at it. But, the problem I have with Samantha's philosophy is the assumption that guys are retarded so you have to trick them into having a conversation with you. I'm also a horrible liar, so telling a group of guys that my friends and I were just discussing some random topic would definitely not come off as genuine.

And, I think being genuine is one of my best qualities.

"That Girl"

Let's face it... we've all been "that girl" or "that guy."

And, let's face it... the only reason I read "Don't Be That Girl" by Dr. Travis Stork is because...well...he's super hot.

I figured it would be entertaining to read a "Bachelor"s perspective on women and dating... and after all he IS a doctor.

In a nutshell, here is the "wiley girl" recap of the super hot doctor's book: Don't be "that girl" because guys are super smart and never ignore red flags in their pursuit of the absolutely perfect woman. But if you are "that girl" don't be too hard on yourself because you probably have some good qualities... you'll just never find a boyfriend. OK, he does deliver this information with a little more tact than my recap... and I agree there are a lot of immature woman out there who probably could use a kick in the ass by a super hot doctor.

When I read the "Desperate Girl" chapter I realized that the title of my blog alone would have the super hot doctor labeling me desperate. But, I know that super hot, super SMART Dr. Travis has a sense of humor. Surely he understands it's about the journey not the destination and surely he is able to find the entertainment in the quest for love. After all... super hot doctor took a leave of absence from his career as an ER doctor to go to a foreign country (really?...France?) to find the love of his life amongst a group of Hollywood handpicked "very normal" lovely young women. Oh yeah, and it was on TV. I think the super hot doctor and I actually have a lot in common (ignoring my sight-of-blood issues) and neither of us are desperate.

There is a difference between being crazy in general and acting like a lunatic when the wrong guy gets under your skin and in to your heart like a wicked fish hook. Like I said, we've all been there... but hopefully we learn from our behaviors, laugh at our mistakes and recognize that nobody is perfect. I believe that there are partners out there for all of us... lovers & friends that bring balance to our lives and bring out the best in us. I actually HAVE to believe this theory because there is no other way for me to wrap my head around how all those crazy bitches out there can be in stable relationships... oh shit, now super hot doctor might think I'm "Bitter Girl."

Turns out Dr. Travis's Rx no matter what your crazy girl disease is- be it Agenda Girl, Yes Girl, Drama Queen Girl, Bitter Girl, Insecure Girl, Desperate Girl, Working Girl, or Lost Girl - is to work out. Could it be true? Could being in shape be the cure-all for every irrational thought, every annoying emotional outburst? Or maybe... the super hot doctor knows that a girl with a hot body, no matter how crazy she is, gets a pass...

Time for me to hit the gym... oh crap... now super hot Dr. Travis is going to think I'm "Insecure Girl"...

There's an app for that...

This week while playing Words with Friends on my iPhone I noticed a new ad running across the top of the game... "SINGLE? There's an app for that!" Because my beloved iPhone has solved so many of my wiley life's riddles, I was intrigued. Turns out it is an app for SpeedDate.com which is like Match.com meets speed dating. You are matched with people and then you can IM with them for 3 minutes and then decide whether or not you want to continue communicating with that person via email or whatever. I had to put in some basic info to discover how it works... I figured come July if I'm still single even after bleaching my hair blonde in June, maybe I will give it a shot. This was a great idea until based soley on my age and the city I live in, these "potential soulmates" started gracing my email inbox...

It is impossible to spell the sound I made when I first caught a glimpse of Cleo from West Hollywood...

Mickey Rourke?

I'm pretty sure I saw this guy leaning against a limo behind the Penninsula in Beverly Hills...

Wait... did you notice that he is drinking and smoking in his profile picture?!!

Ok, tattoos can be sexy, but I think I'm going to need a little more information...

The only place my imagination takes me when I try to picture the real person from this profile picture is the junk food riddled check out line at Fryes Electronics...

And, my very favorite profile happily arrived to my inbox with the headline "Mike Really Wants to Meet You!"...

...and... CHOP MY HEAD OFF!

So... not the app for me...

What I really wish the ad said is "EVER WONDER IF YOU'RE ON A DATE OR NOT?There's an app for that." In the last month I have had coffee, several lunches, gone to the movies, been to a BBQ and a concert and I have no idea if on any of these occasions I was actually on a date. So, I need an app that helps me figure out if the guy is interested in dating me but perhaps taking it slow, just wants to be friends, or is professionally networking. Frankly, I have enough friends, and if someone is trying to be my friend in order to get business they're in trouble. In my experience business can lead to friendships, but it rarely works for friendships to evolve in to business relationships. I would love to go out on what is clearly a date.

I've been thinking about this a lot lately and I've realized that every one of my past relationships be it good, bad, short, long, passionate or boring, have all started out as friendships. Not that this is a bad thing, but the common denominator here is me! So, until my app is developed I need to figure out how I can put a "romance me" vibe out there instead of a "be my buddy" vibe.

Gotta go now... I have to log on to SpeedDate.com and remove any trace of myself!!!

Generally Speaking...

You should never say never.

But I am pretty certain I will not meet my future husband in da club.

Saturday night my friend and I went to a club for a friend of a friend of a friend's birthday party. But the real reason was an opportunity for me to meet someone. My 2010 quest means no excuses to turn down such an opportunity.

I resisted the urge to by a new outfit for such a momentous occasion planning for the fact that the drinks alone would take a chunk out of my retirement fund. Knowing that club wear these days is teeny dresses and the clubbers wearing them are in their 20's made the process of selecting an outfit from my full yet age appropriate closet quite nerve racking. (It took me forever the next day to clean up all the rejected clothes from my bedroom floor.) I managed to leave the house looking trendy with a classy twist and feeling pretty good about the way I looked. Yes, I was sassy, confident and ready to meet my future husband!

We got ourselves a drink and found the spot with a perfect view - a view of everyone in the club that also put us on view. The key of course is to be perky and friendly to everybody. The risk you take with that strategy is that you attract unwanted attention which eventually leads to annoyed bored face, which discourages the right guy to make a move, which leads to glances at the watch and an early departure. The rest of my night was a hazy swirl of small talk, avoiding the well-fed gentleman from Dallas who latched on to me when I was the earlier perkier version of myself, apologizing to an angry sister when my drink spilled on her because some still perky girl behind me bumped in to me, wishing I would have worn sensible dancing shoes, and realizing that the later it became the less likely it was to meet anybody in their right mind.

I left the club that night having only exchanged phone numbers with the angry sister who eventually became my bestie.

Because, of course, my heart is open to finding the one anywhere I go and because, you know, never say never, I suppose there is a slim chance it could happen. But the only reasons I will ever be returning to a club at this particular stage in my life is with a group of friends for a birthday, bachelorette, engagement or some other milestone event.

I'm now well in to March and at this point it seems my experiences are more about how not to meet men, instead of finding someone. BUT a really good thing happened last Saturday night... I learned I still got it going on!

*To my girlfriend who went with me that night...It was a lot of fun to dress up and have a drink with you. THANK YOU along with your husband for the hall pass. I know you put up with the scene for me and I promise I won't put you through that again. But you're not off the hook for other adventures because you're too good of a wing man.

The Woodwork

Why is it that just as soon as I put it out there that I am open to new dating relationships, boys from the past come out of the woodwork?

Do they have a sixth sense and they can feel it when the thinking about them stops? Or maybe I just sort of get filed away in their brains and then one day I pop into the forefront of their minds like some sort of word-of-the-day calendar? It's a mystery, but it happens to me all the time. Random IMs, texts, voice mails, emails...

Last week I got a text from a pilot I went on one date with over a year ago. He had an overnight layover in Burbank and well that's not too far from Beverly Hills, right? Uhm, yes, sorry loser, it is too far for me to drive to see someone who blew me off after one date and who is only back in town for one night, thank you very much.

Today I got an email from a guy I met at an event last summer. He sort of asked me out, we made tentative plans, and then poof! he just disappeared. Trapped under a large piece of furniture, spontaneously combusted, who knows, but at least I now know he is still alive. It's entertaining when these things happen because the tone is always so casual like 8 or 9 months haven't gone by and hey, remember we were going to go to a wine tasting? This dude now wants to send me a couple tickets to an event next month and then meet up with me there. So... a couple of tickets means it definitely isn't a date, but it is a great opportunity to do something fun and possibly meet new people. I will accept the invite and either show up with my new boyfriend, which I have a month to find, or one of my single girlfriends who since I have declared my quest have also happily been coming out of the woodwork.

Typically this is one of those when-it-rains-it-pours sort of thing. So, I can't wait to see who creeps out of the woodwork next...

I am not a Cougar...

I lack the killer instinct.

I thought I was going to an Oscar party, but it turned in to a National Geographic expedition. Myself- cougar on the prowl. The young lone straight male - the prey. I'm not sure what a 22 year old straight guy was doing at an Oscar party at the Abbey... that to me was just as strange as the concept that I being the only single woman and old enough to be his mother was expected to attack and devour him. The spectators circled us like hyenas anticipating the juicy details of the day after stories. "You'll have to tell me all about it" hissed one of the hyenas and yes I do believe some drool glistened the corner of his grin.

Ewww! So disgusting.

It's annoying to me that if you are over the age of 40, people just assume you want to hunt down and play with every handsome little nugget that comes along. Uhm, no thanks.

My apologies to those who were hoping for the scandalous details of a night spent with some young buck. I may have been willing to do a little exploring but there was zero chemistry. It would take a special connection, maybe even some fireworks to get this old girl to pounce just for the sake of an entertaining post.

I may be of cougar age, but I still want and deserve to be the hunted not the hunter. And honestly I have no desire to train a new cub. I'll take the experience of a few wrinkles and graying temples any day. I am looking for love in my life - a lover, a friend, a partner to grow old with. Could that happen with someone younger than me? Sure, but highly unlikely it will be someone 1/2 my age. Yes, I know, I know you ask what about Ashton and Demi?... Sure, that dynamic duo has thrown a loop to ageism, but what people forget is... she is DEMI MOORE!

p.s. The picture above is of myself at the Oscar party... On the prowl... Grrr!

Red Flags

Red flags... sometimes we ignore them.

I knew before our date that he wouldn't be the guy I would bring home to my parents, but I was excited when the good-looking trainer at my gym asked me out. The red flags were there from the moment we first started flirting at the gym, chatting on the phone and texting. (BTW he is an extremely entertaining texter.) When I expressed my reservations to my mother she reminded me that it's never a bad thing to be seen on a date with a great looking guy and well, you never know...

I had no idea what I was in for.

The date started out promising. Turns out he looks good in jeans as well as board shorts! But soon after we placed our orders at the restaurant I realized I wasn't going to do much of the talking and I wasn't sure I really wanted to hear what he had to say. This must be what guys go thru when a beautiful woman goes on and on about her eating disorder, ex boyfriends, and addiction issues. I felt like a dude, but I wanted him to stop talking and, I don't know, maybe kiss me! After awhile I stopped wishing he would shut up and instead just let him ramble on while I fantasized about our vacation together on a tropical island and wondered if he would pack his old Chippendales costume, it couldn't possibly take up too much room. Every 10 min or so I would get jolted back to reality by another glaring flag - exwife, maybe two but for sure one... that he actually saw earlier today?what? -- back to the palm trees -- did he just say his bathroom would make a good pot farm? -- back to the bowtie without a shirt -- rehab for coke addiction -- back to his teeth, could they be any whiter? -- he adds vodka to the vitamin water he drinks while training clients? -- wait, if we dated would he train me for free?!! I was so confused, do I run or dive head first in to those beautiful green eyes. I started to plan how I could spin this to my family and friends... a Chippendales dancer is more like a member of a performing dance company, not a group of male strippers, right?

I received a cute voicemail and a few texts after that night, but that was our one and only date. The way I look at it, he actually did me a big favor by never asking me out again. I did myself another favor by finally removing his number from my phone. Until some genius invents an iPhone app that puts certain numbers on lock down after detecting that even the tiniest amount of alcohol has been consumed, I just can't be trusted.

When you first get to know someone it's good to reflect on your conversations and figure out if any inevitable red flags are deal-breakers or just minor annoyances. But when you go on a date with a giant walking orange cone it's best to go home and delete his number from your phone, no matter how amazing looking he is.

Do Blondes Have More Fun?

I recently made a dramatic change to my hair. After conducting an extensive scientific poll on facebook I decided to go dark brown with bangs. One male co-worker told me it was not a haircut it was a disguise. And he was right. Hardly anybody recognized me at first. This was actually a lot of fun (except for freaking out my two year old niece).

One day I was walking down the paseo at work and I saw my friend J. coming towards me. He is a single, good-looking guy and would actually be a datable if he didn't own and use more hair care product than I do. Anyway, as he got closer I flashed him a giant smile which was reciprocated with a "how-you-doin'" style hello. It hit me that he had no idea who I was. Once he realized it was "just" me the mystery was gone and his whole demeanor changed. DB.

The winning result of the poll by the way, was blonde. I had posted a few pictures from Halloween '09 when I wore a blonde wig which seemed to swing the votes that direction. It made me wonder if all the maintenance of going blonde is worth it. One of my friend's husbands told me if I go blonde I'll be married in 6 months. Really?

Overall I have had a lot more attention from men since I changed my hair. It's more about how a new look makes you feel about yourself. My dark hair made me feel sexy and mysterious and that must show at least a little bit. Still... if I haven't met anybody by June, I can always go blonde and if John's right I'll still be married by December.

Happy Valentine's Day!

Sitting at my parents house on Valentine's Day... alone. I figured if I didn't have a date I would spend it with the people that I loved the most. Well, it turns out that my parents have an all day double date planned and my brother, who happens to live about 3 miles from here, and his family are all sick. So there goes my happy plan of spending the day with the love of my life aka my niece. Hmmm... time to turn on the Olympics. I do love the Olympics.

So, while watching an interview with Apolo he shared that tough question he asks himself every night "Did I do everything today to be my best?" or something exhausting like that.

Typically I would roll my eyes at this kind of speech but for some reason hearing it from this cute little nugget actually inspired me. At least inspired me to turn off the TV. Just like Apolo I'm in pursuit of a piece of precious metal (for my left ring finger). I'm pretty sure I won't find it watching DVR'd Olympics in my parents family room. I'm packing up my clean laundry and heading back home to enjoy this gorgeous day. Maybe I'll even take myself out tonight.

No Game at the Big Game

Super Bowl weekend in Las Vegas... there cannot be a better place to meet men, right?! I walked in to the most amazing Super Bowl party I had ever been to with my hopes high. It was unbelievable. TV screens covered every square inch of the enormous ballroom so that it was impossible to be anywhere in the room without seeing the game, pool tables, foosball tables, open bar, any kind of food you could imagine, massage chairs and men... lots and lots of men.

Here is the problem... I arrived to the party with married couples. Married girlfriends can be great "wing-women" but not when their husbands are around. And it doesn't matter how confident you are, you can't work a room solo when you're in Vegas because you can easily be mistaken for a hooker. I was able to engage a couple guys in conversation at the food stations. I was successful in learning how to make the perfect meatball sandwich and discovering the most amazing shot glass sized vanilla shakes, but not in finding a date.

I had a great weekend... I love my friends and their husbands... but I left Vegas with the realization that I need a new wingman not a chicken wing, no matter how tasty it is.

Inspiration

On New Years Eve I decided that 2010 was my year. I announced to my friends that not only would I find a boyfriend this year, but that I would also become engaged and married by December... 2010. All agreed this was a fabulous plan.

On February 1st I woke up and realized that January was gone... I hadn't even been asked out let alone on one date. Less than 11 months before the end of the year! That day I had an epiphany... I decided that I really needed to put it out there that I was ready for love. Now, I need to set the record straight right off the bat and say that I'm really resistant to the concept of looking for a husband the way you would look for a new job or the perfect outfit. I have always believed that true love will happen for me in a much more organic way and I believe that you find it when you least expect it. That being said... doing my own thing with the hopes that Mr. Right will ask me how to pick the perfect papaya at the market one day hasn't worked for me yet.

So off to a late start, but lucky for me I'm good under pressure. I am resolved to embark on adventures with an open heart. And lucky for you I'll share my experiences in dating, life and love over the remaining 46 weeks of 2010. I am taking suggestions on how to meet men and I'm looking forward to your creative ideas. Thanks to all for your inspiration.