Date Night

I must tell you all about my date .

One word....WOW.

This was undoubtedly the most fun I have ever had on a date in my entire life. Just to give you an idea, I left my house at 6pm and got home at 3am. Everything was just right. This is despite the fact that my neighbor came over while I was getting ready to give me last minute advice about what I was wearing. She told me that my shoes were great (they were), but that my hair looked terrible and I had on too many bracelets. She also reminded me to cover up the zit on my chin. Even with my apparent ugliness, I allowed myself to be seen in public anyway.

This was not your usual date. He had two friends pop into town at the last minute, and they were only staying for one night. I told him to have his buddies tag along. I think it broke the ice a little. As it turns out, they all used to be in the Marines together years and years ago. I was on a date with three Marines. That's the coolest damn thing ever! We went to this amazing restaurant downtown for dinner and drinks. It was small and crowded and perfect. When the wait for the ladies' room was taking forever, he told me to use the men's room, and he stood outside and waited for me. The couple at the table next to us was practically fornicating. Because his friends were with us, I got to sit beside him instead of across from him. They told the most funny stories about their experiences together. He held my hand under the table.

After dinner, we did the only other logical thing. We went to a redneck country karaoke bar, complete with pool tables and a dance floor. Talk about going from one extreme to another. It was fantastic. For the record, neither of us had the guts to get up and sing, but one of his friends did. We sat on the side and did Jello shots. Yes, my vegetarian gelatin-grosses-me-out-like-nothing-else self did Jello shots. (I also had cheese with dinner. Cheese is second to gelatin on the gross-me-out meter.) I was having such a blast that I simply didn't care.

I really can't come up with enough words to accurately describe my night. This guy did it all right. He opened doors for me. When we left the restaurant, he helped me put my coat on. We talked and we laughed. We are absolutely going out again.

Now, my hungover ass has to go get ready for work.

Worth the Effort

This is really embarrassing, but I'm still gonna tell you all about it because it's also a little funny. After all, a girl has to be able to laugh at herself.

Tonight is date night.

Yes...that's what I said. I have a date. I'm as shocked as all of you probably are.

Let me start by saying that this guy is my Facebook friend, and if he ever finds this blog, he will read it and be completely horrified, and then he will never ask me out again. That being said, I will take the chance.

I haven't been on a date in a veeeeeerrrrrrrrry long time. Not that there is anything wrong with me, of course, but because I'm not really in the dating pool. I mean, I work in a girl's clothing store, so the majority of guys that I meet are shopping with their girlfriends. There is also the single-mom aspect, which means that I work a lot in order to remain independent and not living in my parents' spare bedrooms, and at the end of the day, I rush home to my daughter. I could probably frequent bars, except that they're not really my style, and besides, they don't allow children there.

So here I am, shocked and amazed that a good looking, successful, normal man asked me out on a date. And what else would I do except panic about this? Suddenly, I have plans that don't involve Hannah Montana or Scooby Doo. I'm not really sure how to conduct myself. I ripped last year's Steve Harvey book, "Act Like a Lady, Think Like a Man" from my bookshelf and devoured it in three days flat. For all the single ladies out there, go buy this book. It is hilarious.

Then there is the question of what to wear. Something from the closet will simply not do. I did exactly what any of you in my shoes would do...I immediately set out to buy a new outfit, right down to new high heels. I spent my afternoon trying to learn to walk in them so that he will think I am naturally graceful. I am anything but graceful. I called my friends and asked them how I should wear my hair. I even knocked on my neighbor's door and asked her which earrings I should choose. She picked the silver ones and then kindly suggested that I do something about the zit on my chin. I have tweezed, plucked, and moisturized. I practiced laughing after my friend Ashley informed me that I laugh just like Vienna from "The Bachelor." I can't stand Vienna, and therefore I refuse to laugh like her. My mom warned me not to giggle. My dad told me not to drink too much.

Omigosh...it's almost time to go. I need to go shower, floss, and douse myself in my favorite apple perfume. Not only is it necessary to appear that I am capable of walking in something that makes me 4" taller, but I need him to believe that I wake up looking this great every morning. I'm nervous, but I have to pretend that this is easy.

After all, dating is practically effortless. Right?

Mr. Poopy Pants

My six-year old has a much more thrilling love life than I do.

After her classmate, Dillon, announced his undying love for her just before Valentine's Day, Kylie decided to give him another shot, therefore making him her boyfriend after all. She also informed me that she has two other boyfriends in her class. It must be nice to be so popular.

Last night, I asked her if she got to play with Dillon at school yesterday. She shook her head, sighed loudly, and announced, "Mommy, Dillon is not my boyfriend anymore."

"Oh no! What happened?" I said, in an equally dramatic voice.

"Well," she started. "Hannah told me on the swingset that Dillon poops his pants. I can't have that."

Oh gosh. Poor kid. At this rate, she's going to end up with as much luck in the love department as her spinster mommy. But to her credit, I don't really care for men who poop their pants either.

On a good note, I have a date this weekend. Fingers crossed!

I Love You Ziggy

Valentine's Day. There is nothing else on earth that makes me want to hurl more than this (except for the idea of still being married to Rat Bastard).

After school yesterday, Kylie and I rushed to CVS to buy Valentine's cards for her class. (Scooby Doo for the boys, Hannah Montana for the girls.) As she painstakingly wrote each name on the cards, Kylie announced to me that one of the boys in her class wants to be her boyfriend. She said, "Dillon wrote a note to me that said, 'I love you.'" Dillon is one of the cutest boys in her class. I expected her to pull the note out of her backpack, but when I asked about it, she said, "I threw it away. I don't want a boyfriend."

My history of bad relationships has probably scarred her.

I remember my first boyfriend. I was in kindergarten, and his name was Jonathan. I don't remember anything else about him except that he had blonde hair. For Valentine's Day that year, he gave me a yellow "Easter" Ziggy doll. I don't remember if I thought boys were icky then. I moved away in first grade, therefore leaving behind the person that could have been the absolute love of my life. What other explanation is there for me still being single? Every Valentine's Day, I think about the boys that I have loved throughout my life, and I always remember that Ziggy doll. I don't think that any other guy has given me a Valentine's Day gift. When I was married, Rat Bastard gave me a card one year that he didn't even bother to sign. I still have it in my nightstand. I would have been better off keeping the Ziggy doll. At least it came from the heart.

Last night, Kylie carefully scotch-taped plastic wrapped packages of candy bracelets to each of her Valentine's cards. She proudly held up one of the Scooby Doo cards and said, "Look, Mommy! I saved the biggest one for Dillon." She had also covered it with foam heart-shaped stickers. (No one else got stickers. Dillon better appreciate it.) Kylie marched off to school this morning, more excited about handing out Valentine's than receiving them.

When she is older, my hope is that Kylie remembers her first Valentine. I will absolutely never forget mine.

Bullseye!

Dear Company-With-the-Bullseye Logo (you know who you are),

Enough with the mailers. You know, the ones with the baby plastered across the front and the coupons for diapers and baby lotion inside.

In case you haven't noticed, I am not having a baby.

The fact that these mailers are addressed to my ex-husband is distressing. After all, he and his new lover are, in fact, expecting a love child sometime in the next few months. Do you see why these mailers are a super slap in the face? Seeing pictures of smiling, happy babies makes me want to throw up in my Starbucks, especially considering that I have barely dated anyone in the two and half years since my separation. One of these years, I would really like to have another baby, but I don't honestly believe it's ever going to happen.

This is my formal request to knock it off.

Did I mention that I'm almost thirty? My clock is ticking, and it's freaking me the hell out. I don't need your fliers as one more reminder that I am probably going to be alone with a parakeet when I am in my forties. It would be cats, but I'm allergic to them, you see. I realize that I'm probably better off single, but I find myself eyeing every decent looking man I see as "potential." I think it's starting to freak them out.

Don't worry, Bullseye-logo company...I'm not holding this against you. I will still continue to shop in your stores. In fact, I will probably be there to buy Valentine's Day cards for my daughter's first grade class soon. Do you want to send me a Valentine mailer to remind me that I'm alone? Here's a suggestion....just send me a flier with a baby clad in a pink and red Valentine's Day sleeper. It would be a quicker knife in the heart for me.

This letter is beginning to make me sound bitter.

Oh wait. I am.


Sincerely,

Spinster in NC

If You're a Mommy....

Here's a note to all of you Moms out there. If you misspell the name of one of your child's classmates on a birthday party invitiation....



...you will get this in return:



Consider yourself warned.