The Lucky Ones

Many years ago, I won a happy hour and show tickets for myself and 9 of my friends at a comedy club downtown that had just opened and was trying to generate business. I can't even remember the name of the place--only that it ended up closing pretty quickly--but I found a show I wanted to see and invited my friends.

Sadly, the act we saw that evening has long since disbanded. Our entertainment for the evening was The Impromptones, a group of three or four fellas who did improv comedy in song. Prior to the comedy portion of the evening, we indulged ourselves in the happy hour portion of the evening; the club had given me 20 drink tickets--two each for the group. Except that a couple of my friends ended up not being able to make it at the last minute, so we redistributed their tickets. As I recall, I was all too willing to take one (or three) for the team, and by the time the show started, I was quite happy indeed.

Often, improv comedy takes suggestions from the audience, or asks the audience to participate in some way. So when The Impromptones asked where the beautiful people were sitting that night, the vodka in my veins directed me to point at our group with both hands in the air. One of the guys came over with a microphone and asked me if I had any good luck charms. I must have looked confused (actually, I was just drunk) because he rephrased the question: if I had a job interview, what would I be sure to take with me for good luck?

My good luck underwear, of course.

Of course! Of course I would choose that moment to reveal the secret of my good luck underwear to seven of my friends and the entire comedy club. Thank you, vodka.

Sensing a comedy goldmine--or possibly just realizing that I had imbibed in some truth serum--the comedy dude pursued his line of questioning to it's natural conclusions. If I had good luck underwear, did I also have bad luck underwear?

Yes, yes I did.

I thought one of my friends was going to puke from laughing so hard. I tried to just stop talking, but as it turns out, drunken Guava sitting in a spotlight faced with a man with a microphone is a recipe for no-holds-barred personal revalations. He asked another question: if some of my underwear was bad luck, why did I keep it?

Well, because I want to give it another chance. Another chance to become good luck underwear.

That's right, friends. Not only am I a weirdo who has good and bad luck underwear, I like to give my bad luck underwear another chance. And I was helpless to stop myself from telling what seemed like the entire world right then.

The Impromptones went on to sing a hilarious song about good luck underwear and bad luck underwear, and I admit I laughed until I cried. Sure, my face was beet red throughout the song, but at least we all had fun, right? If the number of people who yelled "good luck underwear" at me on my way out of the club that evening is any indication, then we certainly did all have fun.

So why would I choose to bring up this secret shame today? As it turns out, I should've done laundry last night. Instead, I was out on the town. . .well, out in another town. . .meeting some awesome fun ladies and having a few drinks. I didn't get drunk, and I don't think I spilled any shameful secrets, but I definitely did not attend to my chore list for the evening.

Let's just say I've got my fingers crossed today. Just in case.

Green Light Girl

I've given the green light for set-ups.


The last time I was out in the dating world, I was pretty much surrounded by guys. Guys in class (college), guys in bars (drunk), guys on the bus (UT shuttle). It was rainin' men, and I took it for granted.


Now, even though I still leave the house pretty much every day, I'm surrounded by the same people most of the time. At work, I do work with mostly men, though not anyone whose friends I'd want to date. Okay, there IS a really cute fella at work. He's five years younger than my fake age (which gets further away from my actual age at every birthday, ha!) and even though I'm not technically his boss, we're on the same team and work together every day. But he's tall, and handsome, and easy to talk to. We like a lot of the same things. Early one morning, he texted me to see if I could give him a ride to work because his truck wasn't running. When he hopped into my car that morning, fresh out of the shower in his freshly pressed white dress shirt, I have to admit that I was a little speechless. The kid was looking goooood.


Then I remembered that the kid has a really bad habit of constantly adjusting his, uhh. . .personal business. Evidently, he has some sort of issue or at the very least is unable to purchase appropriately-fitted underwear. And there was that one time when I mentioned Shelley Long, and he didn't know who she was, so I referenced her character on Cheers and he thought that must have been before he was born. Reasons eleventy billion and elevently billion and one that the kid is not for me.


I digress. When I'm out in public, I'm generally with married friends, and we're not hanging out in bars lookin' for dudes. If I'm at someone's house for some sort of group event, it's me and the marrieds. Occasionally, one of the husbands will include a single friend, but I've known them long enough to know those single friends are not for me. Y'all can keep your Dupree.

Besides: for the last many years, I didn't want to scope out or figure out how to meet single dudes. And now I realize that my many trips to Home Depot over the last several months aren't exactly like the college days. Not to mention that I am not always looking my best when picking out paint.

So, I'm putting the word out on the street. I realized I need to be specific, because apparently there are things that I assumed would go without saying. . .and evidently, they do not. That is, a random guy you see getting into a jaguar at the grocery store does not automatically equal my future husband, MOM. (Disclaimer: neither of my parents are reading this blog as far as I know.)

My future husband is tall. I know that many ladies want a fella who is taller than they are, and I am no exception. But, I am also 5'10" barefoot. And I have a propensity for 2 inch heels. I briefly dated a guy in college who was 5'11", and I felt really self-conscious. I like a fella who makes me feel normal-sized, and so that fella must be a minimum of six feet tall. In an ideal world, my future husband is 6'4". People making an effort to set me up have come to expect that my first question will be "how tall is he?"

He's a good person, which encompasses a lot of key traits and values that may be hard to define for some people. Basically, I consider a good person to be the kind of guy you'd feel comfortable setting up with your sister. He is respectful, and kind. He has a big heart. He is honest, and he cares. He will be an excellent husband and father.

My future husband is ambitious and hard-working. Also: employed. I know the economy is tough, but I think that if he is looking for work, he is not in a mental place to be dating me. I want someone who knows what he wants in life, and is willing to work hard for it. I do not want the guy who said one of the five things he could not live without is a maid. My future husband is smart, and has goals in his career and his life.

He is easy-going and knows how to have fun. He may even be young at heart, but not younger than 30 in years. (If he's in his mid-thirties, all the better.) My ideal relationship only has room for one Type A personality, and I pretty much have got that covered. I would love for him to make me laugh, or at least laugh along with me when I'm laughing at myself.

I would really like for my future husband to have similar political views as I do. At the very least, it will make things a lot easier for him when he's spending time with my family. I don't care if he isn't very passionate about politics--heck, my ex voted for Perot and only registered to vote in Williamson County after I badgered him into it. But I think if my future husband has similar political views as me, he is likely to have similar values to mine. And if he's the same religion I am, even better. If he isn't religious, okay, but I want him to at least consider and be open to my religious views.

My future husband list gets pretty picky after these few major items. But I think I can figure out how much of the rest of the "must have" list is negotiable after a date or two, right?

Refresh

My 730 days have ended, and I've decided to call for a do-over.

But, instead of making a big ol' list of "Must DO," I'm thinking about keeping a list of good things I'm doing. I mean, who has time to keep track of how many times per week they're cooking a full meal? Not I, said the fly.

Besides, at least 300 of my last 730 days were pretty much the opposite of what I expected. Instead of devoting my time to improving myself, I devoted my time to keeping myself from unraveling. Since I'm feeling pretty good on the "holding it together" front, I'm ready to get to the good stuff.

Introducing: Good Stuff for Bettering.

Unsolicited

Sometimes, my Dad randomly mentions things that are on his mind.

Dad: You know, a first date is a lot like a job interview. You may not necessarily want the job, but it's good to get more information before you decide.

Me: So Mom mentioned the guy with the crazy ex who may have asked me on a lunch date?

Dad: It might be good to get more information.

Me: Dad, let's just say this is a "job" I know I don't want.

Dad: But. . .free lunch, right?

Me: A wise person once told me nothing in life is free, DAD.

*****

I emailed James on Sunday evening:

James,

You're right, (noting the cheesey joke I'd made about lunch place.) haha!

I actually don't get over to (lunch place) very often. I'm one of those lame people who brings their lunch and works through at their desk. . .anything I can do to try and wrap things up before dark. You know how it is in today's economic times: more work for fewer folks.

Anyway, I'm keeping an eye on the MRSG calendar--hopefully I get out to another event soon.

GuavaGal

*****

In retrospect, I see that I have not been up front enough about not wanting to spend time with him on a one-on-one basis. Why did I throw in the part about the single group calendar and going to another event? And since when do I talk about the economy with people I barely know?

He responded the next morning:

GuavaGal,

Good to hear from you! (More kidding around about an item at the lunch place.)

So, no (lunch place) dining for you? Well, if you change your mind, give me a call. here's my work number (work phone number).

James

*****

I picked up lunch to go from (lunch place) yesterday. Yeah, I was in a hurry yesterday morning to get to work for an early meeting and didn't have time to put together my own lunch at home. I was totally paranoid the entire time that he'd be there. I was fast.

I'm not going to respond to his email. If I go to another event, and he's there. . .well, I'll just jump off that bridge when I come to it.

UGH

I have five non-work email addresses. Yes, I'm aware that's more than the average person might use, but here's the break-down:

1 email address linked to my former (married) nest name

1 email address linked to my new (now divorced) nest name

1 email address from when I first started gmail , which includes my real first name and my real maiden name (and where I get a lot of email for other ladies with that name--I call us Valerie Jones)

1 email address that I switched to when I got married, and includes my married last name

1 email address that is similar to my real first name & maiden name, which I use for facebook and when meeting new people (i.e. the group I recently dined with)

Perhaps you see where this is going?

James (with the crazy ex) from the dinner party emailed me yesterday.

Let me back up a little bit: at the dinner party, everyone talked a little bit about where they work. Turns out James and I work within a couple of blocks of each other. So during dinner, he mentioned that he often eats at a place close to our offices, and I made a lame joke about the place because I go there sometimes, too.

So his email mentioned the lame joke I made & suggested we meet there for lunch sometime since we both work so close. (sigh) I don't want to have lunch with him! Sure, he could just be suggesting a friendly non-date-like lunch. But. . .I don't really see myself being friends with the dude. And, I always eat lunch at my desk and work through--that way, I get out of the office a little earlier in the evenings than I would otherwise. UGH!

I have really got to be more careful when & where I put out the Single Lady vibe.

Letters, Unsent

Dear NCIS: LA,

I've been watching your premier season with interest, since original-flavor NCIS is one of my favorites. However, your first two episodes have disappointed and concerned me.

The plot "twist" in the first episode was obvious, and the reveal that G doesn't know what his own first name is was ridiculous. He's supposed to be a well-trained NCIS Agent, and he's never done the research to figure out his real first name? What, is the boss lady going to figure it out and surprise him with it? It would probably take her less than an hour of research. But I would consider the hour of my life I spend watching an episode with that sort of first name reveal an hour totally wasted, and go ahead and bill you for my time.

In the second episode, I noticed that G and LL spend several scenes walking along the beach. The weather there looks lovely, and I couldn't help but notice that most of the background extras are dressed appropriately for the beach--shorts, short-sleeved shirts, etc. However, both G and LL are wearing long pants and long-sleeved shirts. It's not like their job has a dress code--I recall the techie guy wearing board shorts in the office. Would it be a big deal to put LL in a short-sleeved shirt? I don't care what G wears; let's be honest, Chris O'Donnell isn't exactly known for his physique. But I think you're missing some excellent opportunities for LL to show off his buff. Seriously, in one scene, he's boxing a heavy bag. While wearing a long-sleeved shirt. If that scene doesn't scream "shirtless LL," I don't know what would.

Don't try to tell me that LL Cool J is trying to be taken more seriously as an actor by keeping his shirt on, either. I'd believe that as easily as I believe that an experienced NCIS agent hasn't figured out the big mystery of his own first name.

Shape up, NCIS: LA. You've got one more episode to prove yourself before I free up that valuable space on my DVR.

Sincerely (I would totally forgive crappy plots if LL never wore a shirt),
GuavaGal

*****

Dear New Friend on Facebook:

Yes, it HAS been a while! When you moved away in elementary school, I never thought I'd see you again. Imagine my surprise when I ran across your posting of our second grade class photo on another friend's page. I doubt you could ever begin to imagine my even greater surprise when you told me you've thought of me often over the last twenty(ish) years and that your mother is "just going to cry" when she finds out that we've connected via the world wide web. I don't have any idea why she thought I was "such an angel" back in the day, since we weren't exactly friends then. My most vivid memory of you in the second grade days is when you pushed me down on the concrete basketball court during recess, and I sported a twin set of scabby kneecaps for a week.

I will be sending a pleasant, but vague, response to your email. When you email me again, I will let that email languish in my IN box for weeks. I just don't know what to say to you, dude. And frankly, you're kind of giving me the creeps. This "beautiful lady" is glad you live outside Texas.

Take care (to just go ahead and pretend we're still not actually friends),
GuavaGal

*****

Dear Drive-Thru Starbucks Within Walking Distance of my House + On My Way to Work:

Is this love, that I'm feeling? Is this the love, that I've been searcing for? Is this love, or am I dreaming? This must be love, 'cuz it's really got a hold on me. A hold on me!

Love (it's got a hold on me!),
GuavaGal

Let's Just Say

I ended the evening by telling a blind man "it was nice to see you!"

Gah. I should not be allowed in public.

I arrived at the dinner location 15 minutes late. I don't know what happened; I think sometimes there is a time warp surrounding my house, and I just fell in it. I called on the way, though, so it's not like they were waiting on me (and my delicious salad) to eat.

The cast of dinner characters included:

Cathy, the hostess. She was very nice, but I couldn't really get any sense of her personality because she was fairly quiet.

Mike, the old guy. One of the people I found on facebook, whose birthday was listed as 12.5 years prior to mine. Yet, during a conversation about Austin-area high schools, he mentioned something about graduating in a year that was 7 years prior to the year I graduated. Ummm? Perhaps I mis-heard him when he mentioned his year of graduation. Also, I think he mentioned it on purpose to determine my year of high school graduation, and therefore my age.

Sarah & Matt, the married couple. Yeah, so there was a married couple at the singles group get-together. Apparently, if you meet your husband/wife in the group, the people in charge aren't too picky about whether you still attend events. This couple has been married for 3 years. Matt was really into sports, and an Aggie. Sarah was very nice, but a little odd. She mentioned that the group's last happy hour was at the Flying Saucer, but not well-publicized because some people felt the location was inappropriate. Evidently, the waitresses wear really short shorts? I've never noticed that about the place, so my response to her description was non-committal. Plus, I think she was trying to gauge my reaction to see which side of the fence I'd land on in the "debate." I suspect she was voting with the "inappropriates," although I couldn't tell exactly from her description. I'm in the "who cares" camp.

James, who has a crazy ex and sat just a liiiitle to close to me at dinner. I think I may have actually strained my back a little from leaning slightly away from him for that hour and a half dining experience. His crazy ex came to light when he received a phone call on his cell phone just as we'd all sat down. He looked at the caller ID, and excused himself to take the call. He was gone 10 - 15 minutes. When he returned, he apologized and said he would have to leave right after dinner and catch up with us all again at the after party. He said his daughter's mother had something come up that she needed to take care of, so he needed to go watch his (nine year old) daughter for a while. He took another call about 30 minutes later, which I assume was her again. It's a good thing James is not at all my tall, kind, handsome, funny, un-selfish, non-smoking, employed future husband, because those were some serious red flags going up on what his personal life might be like. He did leave dinner early and showed up again at the after-party a couple of hours later.

Two people on the list didn't show up. One lady hadn't responded to any of the emails, so I wasn't surprised that she wasn't there. The other lady had a family medical emergency, so she had to go out of town.

The dinner was pleasant, and my salad was delicious. Everyone but James and I had known each other for a while, so it was a little strange to be both new and the youngest person at dinner. (Okay, the married couple was probably only a couple of years older than me, but everyone else was at least 40.) I enjoyed the conversation, but didn't feel like I'd be developing friendships with anyone.

I did get a slight vibe from James that he was diggin' my chili, what with the close-sitting and attention-focusing. Right, did I mention that he seemed a little TOO interested in where I live? Dinner conversation turned to what part of town everyone lived in, and I talked about my new pink house. He asked what street I live on. Hey, stalker, thanks for stalking! Did I mention my fancy security alarm?? Luckily, I did not have to bust out a Sorry, But No type of speech for him. Probably, my spanx were cutting off some critical circulation and I mis-read the situation. It's only been, like, 10 years since I've been in the dating world, after all.

At nine o'clock, everyone left their dinners and converged at another member's house for dessert. I was so sad to see people busting out pre-packaged desserts. I mean, I love me some HEB sugar cookies with neon frosting, but if I'd been quicker on the email, I could've had an excuse to bake! Oh well.

When I arrived, there were only a few people at the house who weren't my fellow diners. I introduced myself around, and immediately got stuck with a fella I'll call Busy Bee. He was wearing a black and yellow-striped shirt, and he had stored up words for days to unleash on me. Seriously, I barely said Hello and My Name Is before he launched into a story that encompassed not only his day (doing yard work for the host and the week wacker broke but he didn't have the right tools and he strained his shoulder trying to take it apart but he eventually borrowed a tool from the neighbor and wasn't it hot out that day also be sure to never buy a certain brand of tool because they suck) but also his resume (WalMart for 28 days and also some state agency but more recently hauling stone all over Texas and did you know you can use your own car because some people do but it's a lot of wear and tear also there is some water based blah blah you can hook up to your car to make more fuel efficient but be sure you use a regulator because if you don't you'll flood your engine and when you open the hood the engine sure will be clean hahahaha). If I'd had anything to eat or drink--I hadn't even made it that far yet!--I would've pretended to choke to get away from him. I was intent on excusing myself as soon as he took a breather. . .but he never did.

At one point, a lady saw us talking and came over to introduce herself. Perhaps she noticed a slightly panicked look about me. Busy Bee shook hands with her, but never stopped talking. He barely even looked at her! (And she was wearing a fairly low-cut dress, too.) She stood there for a minute, looking back and forth between us. I kept nodding at her slightly, trying to use my eyebrows to telegraph that she should take my hand and lead me to safety, but she evidently didn't speak unruly eyebrow because she gave a little shrug and walked away.

So what seemed like elevently billion minutes later, when Busy Bee FINALLY took a breath, I told him I was going to get a drink and asked if he wanted anything. I. . .don't know why I even offered. What if he had followed me over there? Instead, he started talking about the desserts. And I walked away. I didn't even look back. And, I didn't see him for the rest of the evening. I'm going to assume he either cornered some other newbie or some of the veteran members--who I saw walking past while he was talking at me, giving me the ol' HAha look--were able to entertain him.

I busied myself at the dessert table (apple pie from Costco, ehh--but there was ice cream!) and grabbed the last seat at one of the card tables the host had set up to accomodate the 30 or so folks in attendance. I can't eat pie with ice cream standing up. The people sitting there looked nice, and they were. Kate was very energetic and outgoing, though I nearly managed to call her old. Again, it was a where did you grow up/go to high school conversation, and she mentioned that she attended the high school which my high school (senior year) boyfriend attended. I told her I knew a few people who went to that school, and she asked who they were. Somehow I managed to keep my foot out of my mouth and NOT tell her I was sure she didn't know them because they are my age, not hers. Instead, I dutifully named off a few people, who it turns out she didn't know. But I enjoyed talking to her about The Good HEB, shoe shopping, and how margaritas are made in MN. (Allegedly they add hazelnuts?!? News to me, and requiring of further investigation on my part.) I may have busted into her trying to make a love connection with Andrew, who was pleasant enough, and also slightly drunk. Here's hoping they see each other again sometime.

Speaking of seeing. . . At one point, one of the group members escorted over a blind man. She introduced him around, and got him a chair to sit with us. It was very loud in the room, and it made for a couple of awkward moments when he couldn't tell who was talking to who and thought someone might be asking him a question. Perfectly understandable, though, given the situation, and he seemed to enjoy talking to us regardless.

Close to 11, people started leaving all at once. I met a few more folks who I hadn't met during the party. (Yes, I totally plopped myself down equidistant from the wine and desserts and didn't move around at all to mingle.) The blind gentleman's ride came by, and he was saying goodbye to everyone. And there it was, my "It was nice to see you!"

ARGH! Like I couldn't have gone with "nice to meet you" or "nice to visit with you" or "have a nice rest of the weekend" or ANYTHING else, REALLY? It's a good thing he couldn't see the shade of beet red I turned after that idiotic remark. Luckily, I was pretty much out the door into the dark at that point. Maybe I can volunteer to bring a dessert and a big slice of Shut The Heck Up to the next party. I'll split my slice with Busy Bee.