my sweet garden

This has been an amazing day. I spent much of it by the pool with two wonderful friends, who,much to my hearts dismay, will be leaving me for greener pastures very soon. Until then,I plan to soak up their lovliness as much as possible! I also worked on my teeny urban garden, a collection of flowers and awkward looking plant life confined to terra cotta, all in the name of my personal satisfaction.

The truth is, the garden is my reward, to myself, for a very private goal met some time ago. I told myself if I accomplished this I could have my sweet little flowers. Still, I found myself justifying my splurge with every scoop of dirt. You did this, you deserve this, you had a gift card, its okay..but....blah,blah,blah. I couldn't accept today that I did nothing to either deserve or not deserve my own little garden. I enjoy the flowers, the dirt, the challenge of not killing them, the tiny white lights and candles that I scatter and light at night. Its perfection. I've had the best conversations out here, the best kisses, I've laughed and shared a million stories out here. All that, and still, I have to "earn" what I love...or at least in my mind I do. I wonder though, what might happen, what might change in me (us) if our loving kindess was only as good as that which graciously show ourselves. In a lifetime smattered with lessons of grace, why do we hesitate to give ourselves that same kindness. Look, I'm no angel. I have a dirty mind, I say fuck a lot...no a LOT, I have road rage...the list could go on but for now I'm going to indulge in my 6'x10' corner of heaven..right after I get myself some ice cream.

More on Self-Torture

Not unlike a fart in the wind the recent "good date" has drifted away. I realized I could continue down the path of what the hell did I do untill I thought about Bed, Bath and Beyond....stay with me. I used to hate that store. Its full of tiny gadgets and little shit everywhere...like floor to ceiling. Despite my dislike of stores full of crazy shit, my ever maturing grown up, cook-for-myself-and-sometimes-my-friends-and-do-not-give-them-an-illness lifestyle requires the purchase of the occasional kitchen gadget. You can make the circle at the old BB&B and just before you hit the checkout is the dreaded "SHELF FULL OF MAGNIFYING MIRRORS". They come in every power...all the way from oh,no is that a zit to HOLY SHIT I THINK I'M GROWING A HANDLEBAR MUSTACHE". The temptation to study the size and contents of my pores and evaluate the future wrinkles (made visible by the "see 20 years into the future model") is like trying to figure out just what went sour on a good date. I could look and study for a long time...the longer I look the more I will find. The more I will be afraid and the less I will wanna show my face later. And let's face it florescent lighting and magnifying mirrors are probably no honest woman's friend. So I guess. I'll practice what I'm always preaching,ease up on myself, and wait for the dude who magnifies my good stuff.

Dates Worse Than Me aka I Feel Pretty

I once referred to a man as Jake at a very inopportune moment. His name was Jack. It was an easy mixup...just unfortunate. I hardly count it against myself,as his name turned out to be neither Jack nor Jake...but Andy,or something like that. Today at lunch I said "yeah, I bet she has a nice comfy house, one where you just just relax and have a nice cock." Sometimes I just say the wrong thing.

I think my little mixups pale in comparison to the first date I got to witness last night. Some squeeking crazy woman freaked. The. Hell. Out. because her squeeze for the evening looked at her embarassing high school pictures on Facebook. Wait...aren't you in control of that embarassment? in case you were wondering what the pictures looked like,fear not. The squeeking crazy gave a 15 minute synopsis of how pretty she was from 9th grade on. 9th and 10th grades were apparantly touch and go....but holy shitballs when the braces came off this special lady reeeaaaaallly blossomed. She was sooo pretty then. Things really improved once she was free of the dental prison...and don't you dare compliment her on her cute smile with braces, cause she really didn't like them at all.

So Jake, maybe I tell my coworkers I'd be comfy having cock on their sofa, but I know I'm a better date than that!

The Vast Wasteland Between the First and Second Date

Full disclosure: some (okay,a lot) of the reason for starting up this blog was the prompting of friends to write about my dating antics. It's true, many of my dating stories are one-of-a-kind. I know what you're thinking,but take my word for it, they haven't happened to you,or a friend. If you think you have heard my stories its because they now qualify as urban dating legends. I appreciate a good story but enough is enough. Bring on the happy ending.

So, last night I went on a date with a seriously cute, smiley, fun man. We met for dinner and really hit it off. There was laughing, kicking under the table referred to as "love taps, and a nice build up of flirtation. It was...dare I say it...a good date!

We drive our seperate ways and continue exchanging texts...when poof. Not. Another. Word. Uhhh what did I say,do,think to scare this smiling,flirting manly man away? My head fills with thoughts...93% of which are either completly insane or not even possible. The next day I learn( yes,from talking to him) the cell phone died an abrupt death...close call. But really, what is it about the time after a great date that makes me question myself. Everything from my shoes to the smell of my shampoo. The canyon of time and space between the first and second dates is brutal,slow, agonizing. Like some sort of modern day torture device. Every time I try to peptalk myself out of another bout with the thoughts of why did I buy peppermint gum when I know he would probably like spearmint better and every time I find myself shackled in the handcuffs of second date uncertainty. Call me a saddist...hell, put it in my dating profile and let the cycle begin again.