Baby Marine Tenacity

The baby marine just called me! That means he's gonna be out in HB tonight. I met him at TUG and that's where we're supposed to be going. What if I see him again?!?! Good thing I had his number saved in my cell phone...I almost picked it up....

Please refer to this post for more info as to why you should keep the numbers of boys you don't like in your cell phone:

http://followthefrog.blogspot.com/2005/07/to-save-or-not-to-save.html

The baby marine should hang out with Barista G.

Aloha Consolation Vacation!

As you all know Cancun was postponed. And that, along with Firecracker events, recently pushed me into a little happiness dip. But I'm back up and part of the reason is because of a newly scheduled, hastily thrown together consolation vacation! I am going to Kauai over Labor Day Weekend with the Private. I am so excited because this means: 1) I still get to spend some time in the tropics and warm sun 2) I get to see some cool things I haven't seen before (like Waimea Canyon), 3) I will get some cool photo opportunities with my fabulous Nikon D70, and 4) I will get to celebrate Labor day in the perfect way...reading a great book on a beautiful beach with a Pina Colada in hand (they are better than Mai Tais). And this means I will start the fall off with a nice glowing tan. Perfect for Santa Ana season.

I still haven't officially unpacked from Cancun yet...I've just sort of rifled through the bag as I need various things. Maybe I should just keep it all together since Kauai is only 32 days away.

The Little Firecracker that Couldn't

Here is a story about a boy I call "The Firecracker." I wasn't going to write about this at first--he wasn't worth it--but I decided to share a little outline of our small story simply because I love his nickname.

I met the Firecracker on July 4th. That's the obvious part of the nickname. Looking back though, I have come to realize that this truly is the perfect nickname for him. Our vignette can be summed up like this: Boy meets girl; girl would not normally be attracted to said boy; boy convinces girl to pay some attention to him by talking to her, complementing her, being nice to her, saying all the right things; boy and girl spend hours talking; boy makes girl actually see some potential in him; boy and girl chat on phone; boy and friends meet up with girl and friends; things go well-ish; boy starts acting weird; boy doesn't call back; boy shows up two weeks later to explain weirdness; boy says he doesn't want a relationship (with anyone now) and doesn't want to spend time getting to know any girl right now even though he spent a couple evenings and phone conversations getting to know this girl; boy thinks girl is great though and wants to still be friendly; girl says, in other words, "no". The End.

So the Firecracker shot up out of nowhere, quickly, with lots of energy and with a loud bang, luring me in with fleeting sparks and ephemeral light, then he fizzled out into nothing. And that is why his nickname is perfect.

I feel good about it all though because when he came to apologize and chat, he wanted me to make him feel better about everything and seemed sad about it all. Here's a quote: "You used to look at me with a sparkle in your eye and a smile on your face and now all I see is disdain." I do feel disdain for him, I don't want to be friends, and I didn't do anything to make him feel better about it all. And that makes me happy. So long, Firecracker.

Catholic School Skirts, CFM Heels, and Evolutionary Psychology?

Enough introspection. I'm taking a break and going back to more superficial blogging. And what better way to do that then discuss this week's fashion theme?

Fashion Theme of the Week:
The theme for this week is....skirts! It's hot, especially when you're land-locked in the middle of So Cal Monday-Friday, 9-6. I am a newer fan of the skirt. This is mainly because I went to Catholic school for 8 years. I was often forced to wear ugly pleated unshapely things for much of my time there. Despite most men's fantasies, Catholic school girl skirts are NOT cute or sexy. That's because Catholic schools are about being holy and pure, not fashionable and attractive. Thanks, Britney.

Due to the fact that this theme requires 5 days of work-appropriate skirts, today's outfit is not the best. I look very matronly...like someone preparing to take her small children to church on Sunday. I have on a cardigan, a floral knee-length flowy skirt, and a necklace that looks sort of like pearls. There is only one thing keeping me from looking too "Charlotte": I have coupled my outfit with my CFM heels. For those out of the know, CFM means "come f*ck me." Yes, crude nickname (I didn't make it up!) but they're pretty and sexy and more importantly, oddly comfortable.

On to something a little more intellectual...
I found this cool article today on why people are obsessed with celebrities. It's from Psychology Today (so it's slightly more reputable than In-Touch, which is generally where I get my celebrity-related news). It highlights thoughts and research from various Psychologists and Sociologists about why we like to gossip, why we feel like we "know" various celebrities, why we're drawn to beautiful people and why we define beauty the way we do. It links much of this to Evolutionary Psychology, a field of study I am fascinated with because it explains things like why people get jealous, why men have trouble being faithful and why women just want a man who commits. I am/was so interested in figuring out how our evolved minds play-out in today's world that I thought about going back to get a PhD instead of the whole nursing thing (I actually still keep in touch with an evol psych prof from college...he tried to convince me to come study under him in New Mexico once).

To learn more about why people are so gossipy, celebrity-obsessed, beauty-driven, go here: Seeing by Starlight: Celebrity Obsession http://articles.health.msn.com/id/100108125/site/100000000/

I just realized my post has turned from "skirts" to something bordering on "intellectual." That wasn't supposed to happen.

Enough Dew on my Deck

Lately I've been indulging in things that make me happy. Ice blendeds, Disneyland, Coronas on the beach, Harry Potter etc. As part of this, I've started re-watching favorite movies and TV shows. The trend began with a nightly progression through Season 3 of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Then I traveled to a galaxy far far away to watch the on-going struggles between the evil Empire and a small rebellion led by various Skywalkers. It's always comforting to watch heroes fall from grace and then crawl their way back to the good-side. If Annakin can turn into Darth Vader, kill ruthlessly and serve the evil Sith Lord, but then find love in his heart in time to save his only son, well, then I can definitely get through any petty traumas du jour, right?

In continuing with the "favorites" trend, I'm now turning back to old-school classics. I finished The Never-Ending Story last night. That movie used to strike a chord with me. A lonely child who stumbles across a book that turns out to be the device which lures him to use his imagination so a fantasy world can continue to exist....amazing stuff. Well as an adult, it does seem a little more cliché and a lot more obvious, yet it's allegorical symbolism still holds water for me. And the cyclical nature of the actual never-ending part of it is nice too. The story is happening while Sebastian reads about it and becomes part of the adventure, while we watch it and become part of the adventure, and so on and so forth. Thus the story is....never-ending.

Next on the list of favorite movies from my youth: Return to Oz. This movie is not as well known and probably not as revered as the Wizard of Oz, but I liked it better. Maybe I liked it better because it was released during my lifetime, or maybe because I remember it as being less trippy and odd than the original (no napping in fields of poppies and strange munchkin lollypop dances). As we speak Netflix is shipping this tiny piece of childhood joy to me. Yippee!

I once read about how if you're ever lost on a boat at sea you can survive without water as long as you can collect dew from the deck. Without sounding too dramatic, sometimes I feel like getting through tough times (small or large) is about finding ways to "collect dew." On a scale of one to ten (ten being the most happiest time), I'd say that the last couple of weeks has averaged at about a 6. So I'm not THAT unhappy. But focusing on small portions of that illogical and innocent happiness only children keep is helping, and now my scale is pushing back up to 7.

I like looking back and remembering good times. I like finding that inner-child and re-anchoring my current self to her. I'm not sure how I'll feel next week and I'm not sure what little joy I'll indulge in tomorrow, but for today, reflecting on these memories provides just enough dew on my deck.

ML, the Amoeba

In the past, I have referred to myself (amongst friends and only in jest) that I am like an amoeba. I don't mean that I am a single-celled eukaryotic organism. I mean more that like an amoeba, I would like to just float along in my own world with no concern for much (including male amoeba). Anyone with any science background would raise an eyebrow at this because, well, we all know that amoebas are gender-less. I do realize this. Indulge me here. I like to think of it more that these organisms are so wonderfully simple they don't even have genders. And when an amoeba wants to reproduce, it merely divides. I don't plan on dividing any time soon (although I wouldn't mind dividing away a bit of my thigh fat), but I would like to live life as simply as an amoeba does without the hassle of dating men and trying to get one to love me. And it is in this way that I apply the term "amoeba" to myself: I would like to be--wait, no, I AM--a single, strong woman who has a fulfilling life all by myself, AKA, an amoeba.

Here are more details about real Amoebas that apply to "amoeba" like myself. Amoebas....

1) are complex and specialized [meaning, interesting and unique]
2) swim freely or are in contact [they are independent and also enjoy socializing with other amoeba friends]
3) move by means of flowing cytoplasm [in other words, they go with the flow]
4) live in shells, sometimes [to protect against evil non-amoeba things]
5) live [and thrive] in many different environments
6) survive when conditions are unfavorable by becoming cysts which can withstand drought, heat, or being eaten [amoebas are pretty damn resilient!]

Therefore, when I say that I want to be like an amoeba, that means I want to be interesting, unique, independent, social, "flowing," protective at the right times, resilient and flexible.

Look, here I am:

That Flighty Temptress, Adventure

Yesterday I spent 95 degree weather in the happiest place on earth. I didn't realize "happiest" could mean "hottest" too. But as always Disneyland was super fun. The whole day made me feel like a kid again and that doesn't happen too often. It's the Golden Anniversary at DL right now and we got to experience the updated Space Mountain. It's not all that different. But it did seem a little bit longer and a little bit faster so that the end was filled with whizzing speed, dizzying darkness, screams, and a craziness that only a roller-coaster can provide. A kind of craziness that leaves you laughing. It's not too often that I find myself in complete and utterly un-self-conscious moments of glee. Where your mouth is wide open with half-screams and half-laughs, and for just one moment, nothing else matters but that single experience. Life just doesn't give that kind of a thrill anymore. It was really nice.

I love DL so much, that yesterday I bought a Deluxe Season pass. If a year of virtually unlimited access to the happiest place on earth doesn't lift my spirits, I'm not sure what can. In thinking about the year ahead, I started wondering about which land I like best. As a child, it was always hands-down Fantasy Land. I am a big kid at heart. A big Disney kid at heart. My favorite ride in the park is Peter Pan. Dumbo still makes me cry. I have to hug any Pooh Bear I pass. I am still drawn to fluffy pink tulle things and when I see a tiara, I want to wear it in hopes that one day I actually will become a princess. Carousels make me smile and the lanterns that reside over the tea-cup ride are one of the most magical sights. Yes, I'm a big kid at heart and part of me still believes in fairy tales. Part of me still wants to end things all "happily ever after."

While Fantasy Land is my favorite land, overall, if I had to pick my favorite land as an adult it would be Adventure Land. Adventure Land symbolizes the only remaining true adventures for adults. Rainforests, exotic countries, strange animals. Now that we know people can't fly (even with glittery dust sprinkled upon your head and shoulders), that mermaids can't sing, and that princesses can't sleep until awoken by a charming (and single) prince...far away places with strange things are all we got left.

But both lands represent adventure--adventure in worlds where there is magic and adventure in worlds where there is the unknown. And this brings me to my main point: I like adventure. I want more of it. That's what Cancun will be. That's what the Peace Corps will be if I ever get the balls to go forward with it. That's what Africa will be when I do an overland journey from Cairo to Capetown (when I have 6 months of vacation and $30,000 extra lying around). That's what climbing Mount Kilamanjaro will be.

Until then, Disneyland and books like Harry Potter have to be enough.

In honor of all the fun, surprising adventures left out in the world just waiting for discovery, only the wise words of Dumbledore apply: "Let us now go out into the night and pursue that flighty temptress, adventure."

Perfectly Poised Under Pressure

The other day I was cleaning up my room when I came across an article my mother had lovingly clipped and passed on to me in October of 2002. I read it again and realized why I had kept it. The article is maybe even more relevant in my life now, so I am very glad I stumbled across it again. Here are some highlights:

Basically, the article is about a portion of women in America who do too much. These women are getting migraines and other stress-related illnesses at alarmingly young ages because they are "shutting down under the pressure of the liberation to do more." The author, Adell Shay, links this trend to post-women's lib and says that, "rather than encouragement to do differently, we women were told we could do 'anything' and we interpreted that to mean 'everything.'" But not only were we encouraged to do everything, "we were told, or it was implied, that we could do everything at the same time, but we were have to do it better then men because people were watching."

The author goes on to say that she doesn't remember these messages being particularly overt, but that she and all the women she knows remember experiencing messages like: "go back to school and get A's. Begin a career and work harder than anyone else because there is a whole movement on the backs of your mothers that is at risk if you screw up. Buy a house and a car and lots of stuff. And when you realize you have a hole in your life where love should be, get married, join a dating club or pretend you have no time for a relationship--and make sure you don't lose the job because you need it to pay the mortgage."

Of course, there are other "messages" too. Be healthy. Eat right and exercise. Don't be too emotional. Never gain weight, get a wrinkle or get saggy. Basically, do not age. But don't forget to relax--have fun, make friends, take time for yourself. Shay points out that historically women and men may have had to work hard physically but that somehow our bodies seem to handle that better than the stress of today.

This article is very true for me. I'm don't have any real signs of stress, but I feel as though sometimes the pressure to do and be everything gets to be a lot. And often times, the definition of "modern woman" is wrought with conflicting ideas. How do you look sexy and stay feminine but yet be fantastic and equal (with men) at the office? How do you balance acting completely independent and strong while still allowing yourself to accept the fact the you want a man in your life and are sad because you don't? How do you act intelligent, read lots, get a good education but then read Cosmo and learn how to "Satisfy Your Man in Bed?" How do you be proud of your accomplishments but then try to hide them enough so as not to intimidate men that may not be as smart or successful??

I don't blame anyone for the mutually exclusive concepts of self I sometimes have. I don't blame anyone for the self-inflicted pressure I often feel to do and be everything to everyone all the time. But I do feel that somewhere along the way I soaked these ideas up from somewhere, and sometimes I feel like it is too much. I used to think I was just an overacheiver but sometimes all I am is overwhelmed.

In October of 2002, a psuedo-relationship was beginning to end and I was unhappy at my job. I had decided to move out of my parents place and into an apartment and I was half-ass looking for another job. I was taking writing classes at UCLA in the evening for fun (and fulfillment?). I was making new friends and spending time with old friends. I was losing weight and I was about to go to Australia for a couple weeks vacation. I was taking weekend trips to San Francisco and Santa Barbara. I was in a book club and had favorite TV shows I couldn't miss. I was beginning to run long distance and was toying with the idea of running a marathon.

Now I am surrounded by several failed half-attempts at recent relationships. I have tried Match.com. I have lost weight. I have run two marathons. I have switched careers and been promoted 3 times in 2.5 years. I have moved. I have traveled. I have continued reading and am still in the book club. I have gotten bored with work and decided to switch careers. I have already picked my new career, figured out when and how, and taken 3 classes in preparation for it. I have picked up photography as a hobby but stopped writing. I have made new close friends but maintained close relationships with all the old ones. I sometimes do yoga. And I sometimes block out some time on Sundays to "relax."

Today is not much different from yesterday. The details have changed slightly but the drive hasn't. But I am beginning to wonder, in light of recent "meh," maybe I am not handling it all as well as I thought. That's part of it too you know..."handle" all the pressures with perfect poise.

It will be interesting to see how all this unfolds--both for me and for women--and what it will mean for our future health and for the next generation.

Star Wars and Disneyland

I'm wondering if I'm depressed. Seriously.

But that's not fun to write about or read about. So instead I'll talk about other stuff and try to stay in a place of almost silent partial denial.

I am watching Star Wars (part 4, but the first one that came out). It takes me back to a happier time when the only concern I had was why I couldn't get my side hair buns as big and as perfectly round as Princess Leia's.

I am going to Disneyland on Thursday. Part of me is happy about that. It's the part of me that thinks Disneyland IS the happiest place on earth, and that a perfectly timed churro after riding Splash Mountain on a summer night is the direct link to chilld-like exuberance. But part of me isn't excited about even that. I'm not really excited about anything right now.

God, I hate being such a bore and so sad. Sorry.

No Vacation...and FOTW (7/18): KA

I am really sad today. My Cancun trip was cancelled. This takes last week's "meh" to a whole new level.

Good things that have happened today:
1) Despite my lack of effort and the intense LBC humidity, my hair looks unexpectedly good at the moment.
2) When I got my coffee this morning, the entire LB Fire Department was there getting coffee too. Firemen are nice.
3) My co-worker brought me some homemade veggie samosas this morning. So much for healthy eating today.
4) Now that I don't have to finish all my Cancun books, I can devote my reading time exclusively to Harry Potter. I plan to begin that adventure this evening.

(That is me trying to look on the bright side)

FOTW (7/18/05): KA
I haven't forgotten about FOTW, but I haven't really been keeping it up. This week, however, I have one. It's KA. Last night she was very supportive and helpful in light of my cancelled vacation. She listened to me whine incessantly about it as we drank Coffee Bean Lattes and walked on the beach. It was fun and comforting and healthier than consuming beer. Thanks KA for being a great friend, both last night and always. Your prize will be mailed shortly (Well, by "shortly" I mean in about a month. So, your prize will be mailed out before the end of summer).

Weekend Statistics

Here are some interesting statistics about my weekend so far.

Workouts: 0
Fatty Meals: 3
Hours of Sleep: 6
Miles Driven: 75
Espresso Shots Consumed: 4
Books Purchasesd: 3
Minutes Spent Reading: 0
Saved By the Bell Episodes Watched: 3
Alcoholic Beverages: 8 (two regular margaritas on the rocks, one vodka shot, three diet coke-vanilla vodkas, two JB Pink Lemonades....and I'm going to a bar tonight)
Hours Spent Being Productive: 1

And the weekend is only half over.

I probably only have two more years to live.

The Stuff I Bought and How it Fixed Me: YAY for Capitalism (and moms)

Two skirts, two shirts, two necklaces, a dress, time with my mother, and a Wetzel Pretzel later, I'm starting to feel better. Whoever said that shopping couldn't fix things is shopping in the wrong place. Of course, my new stuff is probably just a band-aid, it doesn't FILL the void. It just covers it with pretty material. But who cares. I'm a young woman in a particularly superficial part of America, and by nature I rely upon the Gods of Capitalism to fix and "make pretty" all that is not.

Oh, and my mommy bought me a Mrs. Fields cookie too. Yum.

Now was all that about "meh"?

Ice Blendeds Can't Fix "Meh"

I had a really funny post in mind for today but I just can't muster up the energy to be funny. I think I am feeling down. For no good reason. I've been trying to ignore it all week (what they generally call denial), but I guess I kind of knew about it on some level because I tried to do all the things that make me feel better when I'm down. I watched stupid TV, hung out with friends, worked out (endorphins, where are you?!?), read Life & Style, made fun future plans, and tried to focus on my upcoming Cancun trip. Today, I even went as far as to get an ice blended from The Coffee Bean. One just opened near my work (within walking distance, this can be very dangerous...). I made myself get the No Sugar Added powder but let myself indulge in the whipped cream. So, there's less guilt, but still....not much enjoyment from it. The only good news I have today is that despite not doing WW for almost a month and despite eating pretty much what I want to eat, I have not gained weight. In fact, I've dropped a couple of pounds from the last time I weighed myself.

So it's sort of hard for me to admit that I am feeling kind of down. I always feel like I have to put on a happy face for friends and family. I don't always do that--and most of my close friends have seen me not at my best before, but I feel like I should always try and appear happy. Especially with my family. Sometimes it feels like if I don't act happy or have the ability to snap myself out of a bad mood, my family gets impatient and exasperated with me. Which, obviously doesn't do much to help the situation.

But I am dwelling on stupid things...let me move on. I have a date with the last guy from Match.com tonight. "Last" because I cancelled my membership for the month. With my upcoming trip and my general non-interest in match guys, I figured a break is in order. I hope to wow him with my bubbly personality and witty banter (Even though I'm feeling neither bubbly or witty, I'll manage somehow).

I am going shopping today at lunch with my mom. Maybe that will help. Bargains are always an inspiration.

An Open Book

WBF asked me to go to lunch yesterday out of the blue. I think it's because I stopped showing an interest in him. Part of the reason I think this is just because of the games little baby boys under policy tend to play (hard to get). But then part of the reason I think this is because of something I discovered yesterday during lunch: WBF can read me, and possibly all people, very well. Here's what happened:

While we were walking out of our department into the main hallway area, we ran into the director of HR. I don't like him and I'm always afraid he's going to find something wrong with me (in an HR sense). And yesterday I just happened to be wearing an illegal t-shirt (I'm know, I'm such a rebel). So internally, I was sort of startled by seeing him. On the surface though, I felt as though I walked by smoothly, and waved a casual "hello." Several minutes later, I pointed out my t-shirt to WBF (because rebellious girls are hot, right?). He then asked me, "Is that why you kind of stiffened when D walked by?"

My goodness! If the boy noticed this ever-so-tiny flinch at the sight of the HR man, how long has he known about the ebb and flow of my interest in him?

And this takes me to a larger issue. I like to think that I am good at hiding my emotions. I really wish I were. Being able to control that sort of thing gives you the advantage in so many situations. But alas, I feel I am not good at hiding my emotions, and this little incident with the WBF proves it.

To Save or not to Save

The other day I was talking with a friend about how long one should keep an ex's contact info programmed in their cell phone. Now that cell-phone usage is so common and because they allow you to store numbers in by a person's Name, erasing someone's cell phone number can be a big deal--it can be cutting off your connection to them entirely. Often times, I erase a guys number in a passive aggressive attempt to "delete" them from my life ("yeah, I showed you!"). But with guys I've had more interaction with, sometimes I'm afraid to remove them. What if I need to get a hold of them? What if something important happens after we break up that they need to know about??

I deleted my ex-BF, MS, from my cell phone not long after he dumped me. But in a moment of panic before hitting "delete," I wrote down his cell and contact info on a piece of paper. I stored this piece of paper, along with all the gifts he gave me and all the things I had that reminded me of him, in a box in our dining room closet for almost a year. In April, I finally was ready to throw away almost all of the box including the number. But even then there was still a small trace of panic. This was my last connection to him....But I figurered at this point, there's probably not much of a reason I would need to get a hold of him. And if I did, there are always ways to reach him through friends of friends.

But a new situation has arisen lately: what do you do with the numbers of guys you don't like and don't want to stay involved with?? You may wonder why I'm even asking this. If I don't care to keep in touch, why would I ever consider keeping them in my cell phone at all, right?

Well here is a little story that might explain why:
Once upon a time, there was a lovely single girl in her mid-upper 20's who went out to bars a lot and met many guys. One night while Karaoke-ing, she met a guy who was just barely 21. He looked older than that, but really, that was his age. He was very excited about taking her out and called lots (twice the very next day in fact). She was unsure what to do and was leaning towards not going out with him. While figuring out what to do, she was sort of unofficially avoiding his calls. And then,,,a call came in on her cell phone. It was a number she didn't recognize but it was in an area code where several people she knows lives. Taking an unknown number is always a risk, but she went for it. And it happened to be the wily 21 year old! He tricked her into answering the phone!

So while it might be a good thing to remove boys you've moved on from, sometimes it's good to keep the boys you're NOT interested in programmed in your phone. Just to protect against this kind of trickery.

Here are two examples from my life where this has helped:

Barista G: He continues to call and text message. If I had deleted him from my cell phone, I wouldn't know it was him calling and I might accidentally be tricked into answering the phone and talking to him!

The Little Baby Marine: Periodically, I get a late-night "booty-text" from him. He lives in San Diego so I imagine the texts come in on nights where he happens to be visiting his friends in HB. At 1:45 this past Sunday morning I got another text message from him saying, "What's up Girlie?" If I didn't have a past text message from him saved in my phone, I would not have figured out who this text message was from and I might be led to wonder "who is this? is it PB???" and then I might call it. I have since added the little baby marine's number in my phone as "Baby Marine" to avoid such future catastrophes.

Who to keep? Who not to keep? Who do you want to talk to? Who do you want to avoid? Who do you want to avoid drunk dialing?? It's a fine line, but save wisely. You never know when someone will trick you into talking to them.

Maybe Mercury is in Retrograde

I have a case of the Mondays. I am tired today and unenthused about things in general. Which is silly because I have a lot of exciting things coming up like a GREAT vacation, a fun b-day, and my tattoo!!! So I just need to quit my b*tchin.

Maybe this is what happens after you get enough sleep and take a day to actually relax during the weekend. I slept 14 hours on Saturday night and spent Sunday catching up on Netflix and doing laundry.

Or maybe I'm feeling "meh" (like KQ!) because of all the movies I watched yesterday. Back to back, I watched Rabbit Proof Fence (about half Aboriginal girls living in 1930's Australia when half-caste children were considered property of the government and could be taken forcibly from their families to be raised in camps), Maria Full of Grace (about a Colombian girl who becomes a drug mule to escape some of the troubles of living at home), and then The Pianist (about a Polish Jew trying to survive during the Nazi Germany occupation of Poland during WWII). These are not light films. And back to back, even less so.

Or maybe Mercury is in retrograde. I don't actually know what that means, but it always makes me feel better as to why I feel unexplainably off.

The Dark Side Can Groove

For Fourth of July weekend, KA, Babydoll and myself drove up to visit my very bestest friend KM for the weekend (KM is not mentioned in this blog too much because she lives far away, but we became friends long ago when we lived in the same place in England. She didn't like me when we first met because I was sick and she took my pre-vomiting demeanor for b*tchiness. Then I started not liking her because she seemed unfriendly to me. Then it was all resolved one night in our kitchen a few weeks later because she complemented me on my dark jeans and then I invited her out to the bar with my friends and I. The rest is history.) Anyways, KM lives in the WC. On Saturday night we decided to hit the bars downtown. And by bars I mean visiting one of their three hip and happening hot-spots.

After spending some quality time in one of the more fun (yet slightly country) establishments, we decided to hit up the next one. The next place is called Groove. I am naming it, which goes against the anonymity policy I try to maintain here on the Frog, because I hate it. GROOVE in WALNUT CREEK denied my friend KA and I in to the bar. For no reason. We are in our upper 20's, we had REAL ID's, we were not drunk, and four of our friends were let in ahead of us. Here's what happened: KA and I were in the back of the group. When we got to the bouncer, she and I were laughing about something. He said something about us being from out of town and asked where we were from. KA said in her super cheery cute voice "HB, C." Then the dumb bouncer handed back her ID (which he never even looked at), and said, "Sorry, you can't come in." KA and I thought he was joking so we responded with a, "Ha, ha, very funny." Then the bouncer said he was serious and wouldn't give an explanation as to why we couldn't come in. The rest of our friends tried to talk to him, but eventually we all left. KA and I were SO mad about this. And dumbfounded too...we have NEVER been turned away from a bar before. NEVER. Had we been less shocked and angry, we might have thought of talking to the manager.

We went back to the bar we had been at before and proceeded to have a good time! We danced to hip-hop with wannabe cowboys, followed by a 2am Jack in the Box feeding frenzy, and then a random, hilarious-when-drunk game that is too odd to explain here. But before things get all butterflies and rainbows, let me re-direct this post back to the original intent:

In all our passive aggressive efforts to attain revenge against GROOVE, we decided to take a photo of the place and post it on here (see image on left). We wanted to get a photo of the original dumb bouncer but instead got a photo of this other guy (who somehow knew we were rejected earlier in the night and still wouldn't let us in, thereby making him just as dumb).

GROOVE is UN-GROOVY.

The Miranda in Me

I'm tired of guys. That doesn't mean I don't like them any more, but I'm tired of the drama that they bring into my life. However, I get the most hits on my blog when I talk about my boys dramas....so here's the latest.

1) My match.com favorite emailed me yesterday to say that "he thought I was really cool but he didn't feel enough of a physical connection with me." Considering we only met for lunch dates, there wasn't an opportunity to really see about a physical connection (in my opinion)...but I guess I sort of felt it too as my response to those who asked about how the second date went was "good. no fireworks or anything, but good."

2) I have a new crush. He is a barista at my new coffee haven. I have had a small crush on him for years (for reals, he's worked there since before I lived in the LBC). I don't know his name though. Last night at P I wore my "Baby, we were born to run" t-shirt. He commented on it and BD said he was definitely flirty. He runs too and he told me I should run the half marathon in SD in August (he's running it). The next time I see him I am going to write him a note saying "baby, we were born to run together." J/K. I am not going to do that. The note-passing-with-coffee-barista phase has passed.

3) On July 4th BD, KA and I drove back from SF (we were there for the weekend--a story about that to follow). We arrived back in LA at around 6pm and thought, why don't we go out? So we went to TUG and had a fun, but odd and very random night. It involved a convergence of past crushes (for some of us), new interests (for most of us), and some strange tensions. But in the end it was a fun night. I met a nice guy named JK. I'm not even going to write any details about him at this point because it is likely nothing will come of it. That's not me being bitter, that's me being realistic. Even though the Sex and the City quiz I took earlier this year said I had 0% Miranda in me, perhaps that part of my personality is evolving.

A Fond Farewell

To commemorate the end of what was a beautiful relationship , here is an image of TDG.

















P.S. "Relationship" refers to my connection to the fine establishment of TDG and not to Barista G.

The Black Cherry Soda Stains

Don't get me wrong...I still love it, but I just went in to the bathroom and the entire area immediately above my upper lip is stained red! Like the way your tongue gets after eating a red tootsie roll pop!!!

Either this soda is not as pure and wonderful as I thought (thanks to carcinogenic red dye #40) or I don't know how to drink soda pop.

Black Cherry Bliss and The Little Barista that Could

Last week I stumbled across something wonderful at Starbucks: Jone's Sugar Free Black Cherry Soda. I love it! And this is saying a lot because I normally only like soda when it's mixed with alcohol. But this soda (dramatic sigh) is so much more than just pop. It's refreshing, yummy, and zero points. Clearly it must be the nectar of the gods. And in addition to its black cherry goodness, the bottles feature rotating photographs from young aspiring artists! And so I've begun collecting some of my own photos to submit. Jones Soda Co seem to choose random images, e.g. the bottle I bought today has someone laying on their back in the snow with their hands and feet in the air. It's black and white and asymmetrical. So the first photo I've decided to submit is of my brother skipping. I think Jones will love it. Once it's up, PLEASE go to the website and vote. Even if you think my photo is dumb, vote because you care about struggling artists everywhere (not that I'm one of them...but I DO care about them...).

Another bonus: a portion of the proceeds from Jones Soda sales are donated to the American Diabetes Association. So every time I buy and drink one of these babies, I am helping others. And that's what I'm all about (well, as a BOBO*, that's what I like to think I'm all about).

Anyways, I've added a new feature to my work-week day. At 3pm, I stroll across the street enjoying the warm Cerritos sun to the local Starbuck's where I pick up a bottle of this black cherry bliss. It is fun and I recommend it to all people fortunate enough to be within walking-distance to a Starbucks. So, basically everyone.

BARISTA UPDATE
This young child just does not give up. He is like the real-life, un-furry, non-pink version of the Energizer bunny. He called on Friday to ask if I wanted to hang out this weekend. Then he texted me yesterday to say "Happy 4th." I didn't respond to either communication. Baby Barista G does not get it and I cannot explain it any further without being mean. Thus, my relationship with TDG must end forever. It is dead to me now.

*See "The Nappers" blog for an explanation of this phrase //http://blogs.law.harvard.edu/sweetpea/#a28

Give me an Inch!

I'm convinced. No one knows what an inch is. You'd think that after spending years in elementary school using rulers and drawing isosceles triangles, people would SORT of have an idea...Here are the areas where I most often encounter widely varying definitions of what an Inch is.

1) Coffee: I request an inch of room with my Double Americano. This is so I can add in cream. Sometimes I get a half full cup and sometimes I get an eighth of an inch. More often than not, it is the latter. But either way it is annoying.

2) Hair: Sometimes I request haircuts in terms of inches. "I'd like a half inch trim please" or "please cut two inches off the bottom." Probably for fear of cutting too much off, I find they usually cut less than I request. So why don't I just ask for more than I want to ensure the right cut? Because Murphy's Law applies. Every now and then you get someone who is chop-happy and will do more than you request! It is an unending battle.

3) Short Friends: I am 5'7. Some of my friends are shorter than me. By several inches.

4) Guys: I don't have an appendage I like to measure and brag about. But if I did, I would certainly be honest with at least myself about the size. Enough said.

BOY UPDATES
I had a second date with my match favorite yesterday (henceforth known as "the Favorite"). It went well. No fireworks or anything, but I don't think real-live relationships have fireworks....

And...a sad update. Barista G called AGAIN. He wants to hang out on the 4th. He DOESN'T get it. I am FORCED to be "the guy" here and just not call. And this also means, no more TDG visits. Fortunately I have Portfolio to fall back on. And just this morning I spied a hot guy there. I know I wowed this new guy with my impressive conversation styling...I said "I like your tattoo" and he said "thanks." Clearly, it's love.