Sunday, April 6, 2014

The Revolving Door of Douchebags

Perfect metaphor for my dating life, a ghost town and a shitter all wrapped up in one.

 One new guy steps into the revolving door, just as I give yet another douchebag the boot.

Well, the Cute Wyoming Artist guy finally blew it.  1. he had 4 days off from work, Thursday-Sunday and completely disappeared on me.  2. He's been promising me we were going to meet.  YET after THREE months of texting-phone calls, just poof.  He's gone (TT, yes, I know you're right.  Her long standing rule is only a week's worth of texts/emails then you MUST meet or dump them).  I sent him a snarky text.  Nothing.  Called.  Crickets.  Finally, I sent him a text worried that maybe he was hurt/injured and just wanting to know if he was OK (his real job is dangerous), but nothing.   DONE.  I took him out of my cell.

Now, another guy is writing me.  This one works out at Ellsworth.  Seems nice.  We'll see.  There's plenty of time for him to bust out some terrific douchebag moves.

Then there's there the gym-guy, Shawn.  Now, he's the one I really like.  And he's so NICE and has nice friends, too.  And he's  REAL person (no flaky internet dating guys).  There's been some progress.

According to a keen bartender at Paddy's, he's single and not seeing anyone.

AND, get this, yesterday, he hollered my name across the gym and waved.  So I walked over and we made idle chit-chat for about 10 minutes.

Sooooooooo . . . the plot thickens.  Stay tuned.

Saturday, April 5, 2014

Too Much Snow and the Food Network's Worst Show Ever

Besides shirking and emailing when it's snowy, Ben thinks you should also nap and read.

I missed the gym Monday, but I put in an episode of Northern Exposure and rode my training bike.  I had to do this again Tuesday, for it was yet again, snowing and too slick out. 

Sigh.  But maybe that's a good thing, having to stay in and watch Northern Exposure and ride rather than go to my gym.  This is because whether I go to my work gym, or my gym downtown, Ree Drummond is ALWAYS on Food Network.  And this show, The Pioneer Woman, is driving me fucking crazy.

Well, what's her show all about and what is annoying about it, you might ask.

Where do I begin?  Firstly, WHY is it ALWAYS ON?  If I work out at 9, it's on.  If I workout at 2, it's on.  If I work out at midnight, you guessed it, it's on.  WTF.

This would be OK, if this show taught interesting things like fusion cooking, or basic French cooking like Ina's show, or Simply Ming (yes, I know, I watch too many cooking shows when I start referring to chefs by their first names only as if we're bros).  But it's idiotic cooking.

Like, putting a scrambled egg in a tortilla.  Wow, I never thought of doing that.  Move over Julia Childs.


1.  she's got this squeaky baby-voice sounding like a seven year-old that makes my blood pressure go up.

2. she calls her "ranch" a ranch, as if everyone's stupid and doesn't know what goes on in a ranch/farm.  In reality it's a Trophy Home, and she's a Trophy Wife.  She never works, never: bails hay, scoops shit, pulls calves, slaughters animals, drives a tractor, throws bales, etc.

3. she refers to her husband as "hubby" OK, that's begging for an ass-kicking.

4. or she refers to her husband as "The Marlboro Man."  More ass-kicking.

5.  the whole show has this creepy 1950's Ward and June Cleaver/Stepford Wives vibe to it.

6.  the lingering question is what the hell is "Pioneer" about her show?  She lives in probably a $500,000 house with every amenity known.  "Pioneer" is PBS's reality show, "Frontier House" where 3 families had to go backwards in time, off-the-grid, and live exactly as pioneers did a century ago.  NOT THIS:

"Today, hee-hee, at the ranch we're going to discuss window cleaning techniques, make Bloody Mary's and my specialty peanut butter cupcakies and sit on my seven-hundred-foot deck and have a play-date (anyone who says "playdate" is itching for an ass-whipping), with my friends Marrissa and Jessica and their babies.  Hee hee."  What about that doesn't make you want to punch her in the face?

7. her recipes are lame.  Example: take tortilla out of bag, put cheese on it and canned sauce, put in microwave.  Culinary genius.  Seriously, who gave this person a cooking show?  I see in my most recent edition of Food Network Magazine, that they've asked many chefs what their favorite average ingredient from a grocery store was.  Ree was included.  Guess what her answer was?

Hellman's Mayonnaise.

Well, make room for Ms. Genius.  Who needs Lydia Bastianich?  What's Ree's second favorite gourmet selection, Heinz ketchup?

OK, I'll stop.  But if you don't believe me, go on Food Network and watch.  . . . Told ya so.

Tuesday, April 1, 2014

The Electronic Age, More Snow . . . Oh, and Dating

Ben likes to lay on top the couch and watch old re-runs of Northern Exposure, especially any scene with Alaskan Huskies or Morty the Moose in it.

What else you going to do on a SNOWY, GRAY APRIL DAY besides screw around on email, certainly not work (I'm so burned out).  Speaking of emails, I was writing this new dude who sort of reminds me of John Goodman, when in one fat-fingered click, the whole page went blank, yup, an hour's worth of typing.  This is one thing, of about a thousand things, I hate about computers and the people who design them.  Who sat around an engineering desk, and thought, "I know.  Let's put something in the computer where if they accidentally hit these totally random two keys at the same time, they'll lose everything that they typed up.  Doesn't that sound cool?"  Who is the offical Asshat who came up with the idea?   AND, who are the Asshat designers who keep this feature in place?

What if your car worked like computers do?  What if it lacked all reliability like the internet/computers do?

You'd open the door, get inside and sit down, turn the key and nothing.  The car just didn't FEEL like starting.  Or, say you're tooling down the interstate when suddenly the car just slows down to a stop.  You're left with nothing to do but shut the car off, along the side of the road, and turn it back on every 15 min. til it feels like it's ready to start again.

My computer's router will do that, just 'cause it feels like it.  And I get to merrily waltz over to my main computer on the other side of the house, where the router is hooked up on the floor, sit down on the floor, lay down on my back to get to it, turn the whole thing upside down and around and unplug it, wait for 15 min. then plug it in again.  Sometimes 4-5 times.  

The other day (and my computer does this at least twice a week), the cursor just sort of disappears acting all lazy and fat, as if it were a sleeping cat refusing to budge.  I couldn't see what I typed for several seconds.  After cussing at it, getting up and getting coffee ten times, it still was doing it.


Who's this new dude?  An engineer/architect from California who works in ND and comes down here frequently on business.  He's quite cerebral.  And as usual, I'm wondering if like Wyoming Cute Artist/Musician, if I'll ever meet him, or if he's one of hundreds that I have NOT met, who just like the IDEA of meeting, and would rather instead, text/write emails forever.  I'll think up a nickname for these kinds of men, in another post.

In the meantime, the sun had better get to shining and stop SNOWING, already.  We are SO DONE with the snow!

Stay tuned.

Sunday, March 23, 2014

Dreaming of Alaska

Just finished this book about Heimo Korth subsistence living in the Brooks Range of Alaska with his wife.

Sigh.  My dreams of the last final frontier, the place of legends, Alaska.

I'm now reading 4,000 Miles by Boot, Raft, and Ski--A Long Trek Home by Erin Mckittrick.  She and her husband backpacked from Seattle to the tip of the Brooks Range of Alaska, all on foot and canoe.

I'm wondering how my Alaskan friend is doing.  

Haven't talked to him since the big blow out when he got funky-drunky and brayed at Hipster then stumbled home while his angry girlfriend picked up his phone and sent me a text blaming everything on me.  Nevertheless, I miss him.  I have no one to talk about my Alaskan-obsession with other than him.  He's got that same fever about Alaska in his veins like I do.

Too bad he's got too many issues going on in his life.  Oh, well. 

What else is going on?  

Finally, I figured out what Shawn from the gym's last name is!  So I found him on Facebook, but he's never on Facebook and has all his security settings turned on, so I can't find out much more about him without just just brazenly asking him!

So, I'll have to pull up my big girl panties and do just that.  I did make small talk with one of his nice friends from the gym.

I'm a firm believer that if a person's got cool, grounded friends, then that means that the person is probably cool and grounded.  Then there's the Wyoming-sweet-little-artist guy.  I say "little" because Sipsey and I think he's probably only 5'8", and that could be why he's hemming around with meeting.  Short guys are touchy about their shortness like chubby women are with their weight.  I don't think a guy has to tower over me just to make me happy.  LOL.

Soooooooooo, we'll see.  In the meantime, I'll just enjoy the ride!

Tuesday, March 18, 2014

Cold Feet or Just Stupid?

Look, I'm a dork cross-country skiing.  Pretty cool, eh?

Speaking of dorks, Country-Wyoming-Artist kind of blew it last weekend.

We were supposed to go out on Saturday, and he was SUPPOSED to drive over to meet me, but he wasn't being very certain in our plan making--tiny red flag.  Nevertheless, I was looking forward to it all week.  Then, at the last minute he says he must drive 150 miles in the other direction to Sheridan on Saturday to get his taxes done by his family's accountant, so we can't meet after all (after THREE months of texting, I might add).

Cold feet or just plain stupid?

And there I stood looking at the cute outfit I'd put together readying to go out, phone in hand.  He texted me, "I'm sorry I ruined our weekend."

Well, what does one say to that?  One says, are you just looking for a Fantasy Girlfriend?  Many men on the internet want just that.  They really do not want to date anyone, but they're lonely, so they text up and down a woman, but they never want to actually meet.  They like the NOTION of a possible girlfriend, but nothing more.

So today, I laid down the law and texted him that very information, asking him if that's all he wanted and being very direct.  I haven't heard back yet, so he must be back at work doing his three-day, 14 hour shifts, hence won't hear back until tomorrow.  Look, I don't want to waste my time.  If Wyoming-Artist just wants a fantasy-girlfriend to text when he's lonely, I'm out.  Especially when there are other dorks who want to take me out. 

Other dorks like Deadwood Dick, who is still unbelievably texting me.  I think he's too pushy for my type.  He's not sweet and gentle like my Wyoming-Artist.  He's brash, outspoken, like Fleishman from Northern Exposure.  Opinionated.  Smug.  Deadwood Dick, is well, a dick.  But he cracks me up in a combative type of way.  He's so NOT my type.  He's very Nordic looking as in he could play a Viking, which I find weirdly attractive.  And he's got a cabin off-the-grid which is quite appealing.  He's educated, an engineer (why do I attract engineers?), but like Cowboy-Artist he works for the energy biz now, so on a weird unpredictable work schedule.  He's well-off, been around the world, a widow who lost his family to 9-11, but I don't know the details.  Intriguing. Definitely NOT boring.

But he pissed me off last month, remember?  He still thinks I'm a surgeon, so I don't know how that's gonna play out.  LOL.  Then there's Dean-o, the hunky oil patch worker who blows into town when he's got his 4 days off.  He wants me to spend the whole weekend with him this weekend.  Uhm.  Really?  I hardly know you, joker.

Then there's the car salesman who's super cute, and of course the engineer from my gym.  He's the pick of the pack, the very best fit for me--we both have masters degrees, in his 40's, has hair, loves to work out like I do, has a Harley and loves to ride, super CUTE and very nice and polite.  I am really crushing on him, and he likes me too, but we're at a stalemate, and I'm not sure if he's dating anyone.  And I'm too chickenshit to just plain out ask if he has a girlfriend.  Sigh.

Stay tuned.

Tuesday, March 11, 2014

Friendship and Being Cranky

My Quiet, Groovy, Life.  Happy with my alone time, sitting at Indy's yesterday after three hours at the gym, and getting ready to go home, have some wine, listen to Prairie Home Companion, and bliss with my dog.

But I am different.  I view friendships differently because I am SINGLE and not ashamed.

If you're single and friends with single people, there's a sort of a Democracy going on.  It goes like this:

"Hey, man, you wanna hang out Saturday?"
"Sure what were you thinking of doing?"

And it sort of goes from there.  But I've noticed things different with my neighbor whom I'm friends with.

"Hey, girl I've been thinking about you.  Let's hang out."
"Dude, I've not hung out with you in over a year, but OK.  What looks good to you?"
"Well, hubby will be out of town, so I was thinking . . ."

Did I mention that she ONLY wants to hang out, when her husband is out of town?  When he was stationed in Iraq, we hung out all the time, but the minute his ship landed, and he was back, GONE-O.

Whenever I get STUCK at the gym watching (the worst cooking show, ever), Ree Drummond's Life at the Ranch, or whatever the hell the backwards show is called, I'm reminded of my neighbor and other women like her who completely disappear into their man, and think doing so is super neat.  Ree thinks she's the head of the household, calls herself a "Writer" whatever!  Ree, your husband runs the show because basically, you DO NOT WORK, and he pays all the bills!  You are a glorified housekeeper, cook.

Likewise, my neighbor thinks it is sort of cute that she asks, like asks for permission from her asshat husband, to hang out with me, on the rare occasions that we do hang out, even though "hubby" (anyone who says that word around me will be shot) is out of town.  Patriarchy gone bad, let me tell you.  And every other gawd damned sentence is, "Well HUBBY thinks" this or that, as if he's gawd himself, and this is only because he is a man.

It's like some women glorify men, or maybe I just have a shitty attitude.  But I have NEVER disappeared into a man, nor would I respect or want a guy who's disappeared into me.  You have to have your OWN life. 

Speaking of men, what's going on here?  Not much.  (Crickets chirping) Cowboy-artist is still texting me.  I'm wondering if we are ever going to meet or if it's that fantasy thing that so many guys do where they just text (you never wind up meeting them), shrug.  No news from Deadwood Dick, but I am getting an occasional text from the cute car salesman in town, but it seems the timing is off.  Hipster has disappeared from the radar.  BUT, I spent about 45 min. talking to Shawn-the-cute-guy-from-the-gym at Paddy's.

He's cute.  I'm friends with his best friend's niece.  He's educated.  But I'm approaching it as a friends-only thing, because I can't figure out if he has a girlfriend or not.  So best not get hopes up.

So pretty quiet around here, UNLESS Cowboy-Artist comes into town this weekend, so stay tuned.

Thursday, February 20, 2014

Post Valentine's Blues: Or What a Great Time With Crackie

Y'all, ain't that cute?  Bennie begging for something from his treat bowl.   Nothing's cuter than that, other than a 2 day long date with Crackie.  Sigh.

We had a blast since he rolled into town.  Gabbing, hiking, dining out, cooking in, long intellectual discussions until two in the morning, guffawing and beer sipping, sarcasm and watching tons of Northern Exposure followed by deep, meaningful talks, interesting discussions about our travels over 2013.  Then there was copious hand holding, one deep-kiss, and lots of snuggling and footsies.

But like always, he's blown back outta town.  He did say a few alarming things: like, how he just ought to settle down with me, fall in love, be with me for the rest of his life. 

 What was that, you gasp?

"You haven't told him you've been dating other people?" Dooders asked. 

Well, no.

"What about his committment-phobia?" JJ asked.  Good point, I thought.  Maybe, he's now seen what he's been missing?

Talk is cheap.  It ain't over til it's over.  Until a guy puts a ring on my finger, IF I allow it, it's not over until I say so.

There's still Shawn, my old student's uncle's friend from the gym, who's cute as hell and as nice as can be, and there's still my little Wyoming artist/singer prince.

Stay tuned, kiddies.