Shy Guy


“Some of us are going to the Lion and Crown for a drink after work, do you want to go?” I ask Samuel.

Then I realize that it sounds like I am asking him out on a DATE!  I didn’t intend to, not really.  I simply wanted to extend the invitation to my shy coworker, a guy who seemed nice enough but rarely spoke.

“Um, uh, where’s that?” he asks.

“In Addison, on the circle,” I explain, “I can draw you a map.  Or you can look it up on Google.  It’s only about 20 or 30 minutes from here…” I trail off, as I realize that I’m babbling.

“I’m from Dallas,” he says with a smirk.

“Oh,” I say.  “I thought you were from New York.”

He rolls his eyes, speaking volumes.  He says, “I worked in New York for a year and a half, living in a hotel room.  My home is here.”

“Oh,” I say again, ever the master of wit and articulation.  “Well, do you want to come?  I don’t know how many of us are going, but it may be a dozen of us, I think.”

“Um, this is a lot to process, can I think about it?” he says.

“Of course.  I’ll email you the details,” I say, and turn to leave his cube, practically running back to my cube, around the corner and up the aisle.  It was only 5’ from his cube, as the crow flies, but since I don’t (fly, that is), I had to walk down the aisle and back up the next one.  Seriously, I could hear people talk in his cube; so I suppose he could hear me talk in mine.  If I were to stand up on my tippy toes, I might be able to see over the cube, across the aisle, and into Samuel’s cube.

And now, I hope that he doesn’t want to come to happy hour.  Because, really, I just wanted to invite him with the group; not ask him out on a date!  But…he is kinda cute.  I think he’s a little younger than me, but not by much.  Plus, I think someone mentioned that he has a daughter, so he might not want more kids, so we might get along on that point…

Urgh.  This is way too complicated!

I sit down and forward the happy hour email with the words, “Samuel, here is the invite, let me know if you can make it.  Like I said, should be about a dozen of our coworkers there.”

Then I tried to work for the two hours until it was time to go.  Really, would this day just end already?  I need a drink!

“I’ll go,” Samuel says, making me jump.  He looks briefly at me, then at his phone (as though he was texting someone), then walks off.

Damn, that guy is introverted!

Lion and Crown

I sit on the patio of the bar with my friends and a glass of wine, nervously looking around for him.  Then I smile at my friend and ask her how she’s been, trying really hard to listen to her answer.  For half an hour, I smile and laugh and try to pretend like I’m not watching the door.

FINALLY Samuel sits down next to me.  I jump again; I didn’t see him walk up.  But then, I really do like my friends, and they really are interesting, so I guess it’s not all that surprising that I wasn’t watching the door.

“Oh, hello!  Have you met…” I say, making introductions.

Samuel waves rather say anything.  I smile; it’s kinda cute how shy he is.  And he came out for me, because I invited him.

He orders a beer and carrot cake.

“Dessert, really?” I ask, shoving another cheese-covered chip into my mouth.  I love ordering chicken nachos when I’m at a bar; they are gluten-free and delicious!

“Why not?  I’m an adult!” he tells me with a smile.

I laugh.  Over the next couple of hours, we get to know each other.  He is 30 years old, divorced with two little girls, ages 8 and 13.  He’s not fazed by the fact that I’m older than him by 5 years.  Ok, it’s really 7 years, but who’s counting?

Buzzing on wine, happy that I spent time with friends and a handsome man, I practically skipped out of the bar at the end of the night.  Samuel walks beside me, silently, as we cross to the center of the Addison Circle.  He looks up at the sculpture there and remarks, “There’s a bike.”

I look up and see it.  “And it’s blue,” I answer.

We stand there like that, for a moment, thinking our own thoughts.  As I’m wondering what the meaning is, “Is this an ode to the flying ET?  Or does the sculptor just like bikes?” I realize that Samuel has started walking away.  I call out to him, “Good night!”

He waves.

Well, I guess it isn’t a date.  If it were, he would walk me to my car, and/or try to kiss me.  And yet…I had felt a spark.  I sensed that we weren’t done yet.


The Following Week

“Wanna go to lunch?” Samuel emailed.  “Chipotle?”

I said yes, he paid for my food, we had a perfectly polite conversation, and then we went back to work.

Was that a date?

The Week After That

Same story, only dinner at a Japanese restaurant.  I met him there, he paid.

After dinner, standing in the parking lot, I think, “Screw it!  One of us has to make the first move!”  I leaned over and kissed him, a quick peck on the lips, then walk off.  That will either give him the courage to make the first move next time, or he’ll quit asking me out.  Either way, we’ll be out of Dating Limbo.

“Night!” he says to me.

Valentine’s Day

And the next week the week of Valentine’s Day.

“I don’t expect anything,” I told Gala Pear.  “We’ve only been seeing each other for three weeks, if you can call it that.  I mean, we haven’t properly kissed.”

“He’ll get you something,” she said.  “Just wait and see.”

The flowers arrived just before lunch.  I was over the moon!  YAY!  Almost every woman loves to get flowers at work, and I must admit that I fall into that category.  Every time that the secretary tells met that I have a package up front, I hope that it’s flowers.  It’s usually a sample from a vendor, or worse, a catalog.  But SOMETIMES, just SOMETIMES, it really is flowers.  And today is one of those days!

I text Samuel, “Thanks for the flowers.  They’re lovely!”

He texts back, “Good.  Dinner, Friday, my place, 7 p.m.?  I’ll cook.”

I hesitate.  OMG I hate coming off as a high maintenance person, but I really do have food allergies.  Usually I would say, “Let’s just go out,” but it’s a holiday and the restaurants will be packed (and expensive).  I don’t want to turn around and say, “No, I’ll cook,” because that’s rude.  So, ultimately—after consulting with Gala Pear and Naughty Nadia—I answer, “Yes J  Remember that I’m allergic to gluten, garlic, and soy.”  Then I hold my breath, waiting to see how he’ll react to my list of demands.  Some people ask me to choose a recipe; others suggest I cook; one guy said he’d get gluten free noodles and make spaghetti.

He texts back, “Oh, I guess shrimp garlic pasta is out, then.”

I laugh.  Good reply!  Whew, he’s not accusing me of being difficult.  “Definitely!” I reply.

To be Continued.  I’ll share the rest next week.


Office Romance Gone Wrong





“I was wrong to break up with you,” Calvin Cauliflower says.  “Please forgive me!  I was womanizing, drinking too much, and generally self-destructive.  I just…I’m really sorry for how I treated you.”

Panicked, I stand in the middle of the cube farm by the copier, thinking, “I wish he’d just shut up!  I don’t want any of my coworkers knowing that I dated this loser!”  Calvin and I work in different areas of the building, so I rarely see him.  In fact, it had been over a year since our break up.

Instead of saying that, I smile and say, “I forgive you,” and turn to leave.   I picture sitting at my desk, far away from Calvin, and never seeing him again.  The jerk broke up with me in one of the worst ways possible.


“I don’t want to date you anymore,” Calvin tells me, and grips the steering wheel tighter.  He stares straight ahead, driving home.

“What?” I ask, in shock.

“I’m not interested.  We’re done,” he says.  His profile is pure Marine: strong, resolved, with close-cropped hair.  He had been a sniper; I guess he was used to coldly shooting other people from a distance.  He should have called; a phone call would have been a better weapon for this bullet.

I shrink into the seat, pulling further away from, pressing myself against the door.  The term, “I wish I could just disappear,” came to mind.  How the HELL do I get myself into these situations?!  We were playing darts at the pool hall with his friends, having a good time, and NOW he wants to break up with me.

Sitting in his truck.

An hour away from home.

AN HOUR AWAY FROM HOME!!  WTF!!  He couldn’t wait until we were at my house?  Or, I dunno, break up with me before I climb into his vehicle?!  I could have asked someone to give me a ride.

I reach out a shaky hand and try to turn on the radio.  I can’t sit in silence for a whole hour.

He sees my finger and presses the button for me.  I stare out the window and hug the door.  I can’t wait to be home.

Two Weeks Later

“I saw Calvin last night,” I tell Nadia with a smile.  Since she is always encouraging me to get out of the house, I thought she’d be pleased.

Instead, she was the opposite of pleased.  “That loser?  PLEASE tell me that you didn’t sleep with him.  I didn’t want to hurt your feelings, but he’s been leaving the bar with a different girl every night for the past two weeks.  Well, every night that I’ve been there, anyway; I assume he’s done the same on the other nights.  Girl, if you even kissed him, you better get tested for STDs!”

Damn.  “I thought he had been sitting at home, missing me like I missed him,” I said.

Nadia laughed so hard that she fell off her chair.

Present Day

He continues, “I cleaned up my act and moved back in with my Dad.  I’m helping him out with the rent and stuff.  And I paid off all my debts; geez, it feels good not to have student loans weighing me down.  I quit smoking, all because of you.  Anyway, you should let me take you out to say thank you.”

I would rather go hungry for a day.  Or maybe a week.  This guy had broken my heart!  Sure, we’d only dated for three-and-a-half months, but I thought we were perfect together.  Geez, we even worked out together.  The way that he blind-sided me with the break up had devastated me.

But here, now, I just want him to shut the hell up, so I say, “Ya, sure, call me.”

“Oh, thank you!  Thank you SO MUCH!  Lunch?  Or Dinner?  I’d rather take you out to dinner.  This Friday?  Great!” he says.

I smile weakly and walk away before he says anything ridiculous that our coworkers can overhear.  Before he could say more ridiculous things, I should say; I can only hope that my coworkers within hearing distance were wearing headphones.  Office gossip can be brutal.

The Date

He texts me the next day and asks, “Where would you like to go?”

I text him, “How about Salt Grass at 6 p.m.?”  The mid-price steak restaurant is near work, and after our last date, I’m not going to be stuck in a truck alone with him.

“Ok,” he responds.  “I’m really greatfull that you’re meeting me.  It’s a date.”

Grateful, I want to respond, The word is GRATEFUL.  But instead, I smile to myself; this could be fun.  Calvin is rather cute and has the body of a gym rat.  I just wish he was a little smarter.  How did he get a degree in computer science?

At Salt Grass on Friday, I show up wearing a nice blouse and a pair of blue jeans: an outfit that says that I tried a little, but not too much.  And since it’s not a short skirt, don’t count on getting lucky.

“I was arrested for an outstanding warrant,” Calvin tells me, right off the bat.

“Um, for what?  I mean, what was your crime?” I ask.  At one point, I had worried that if I ever broke up with him, he might use his sniper skills on me.  In that respect, at least, it was a relief that he broke up with me.

“Speeding, which I fully admit to, but the arrest was bogus.  Since I had moved from the apartment back in with Dad, the traffic ticket didn’t get forwarded, so it went unpaid.  The police said that I had to pay interest and shit.  Well, I’m not made of money, so they threw me in jail.  Did you know that I can make $5/hour sitting in jail?!  I told ‘em that I’d just stay there until the fine was paid.  Instead, they let me go back every weekend, so that I can keep my job,” Calvin says with a puffed up chest.

He is proud of this knowledge.  He is actually PROUD that he was spending his weekends in jail.  He even proudly showed me his mug shot, “See?  I may just put this as my Facebook picture.”

“Oh,” I say, not sure what else to say.  He is a single man, living at home, with no debts and a good job.  “Can’t you afford the $200 or whatever it is?”

“That’s not the point.  The point is, they can’t have my money, because I never saw the ticket.  Besides, all I have to do is five weekends total.  This weekend will be my third, then I have to do two more,” he explains, like sitting in jail was the natural solution.

“Oh,” I say again.  Suddenly, I need to leave.  I can’t let this man think that we’re getting back together; I can’t sit here with him another minute.  Quick!  Think of something!  Get out of here!  “You know, I’m really glad that you asked me out…”

He interrupts with, “I’m glad you agreed.  I was scared that you wouldn’t want to see me.  You look real good, too.”  He smiles.

I smile back, a forced smile.  “Thanks.  But I’m not over my last boyfriend.  We just broke up, and I just don’t think I’m ready to date.”

His face fell.  “Oh.  Next weekend is Valentine’s Day, and I thought we could do something.  That is, during the week, not while I’m in jail.”

Another forced smile, and I say, “That would have been nice.  I’m sorry; I’m just not ready.  Do you want me to pay for my dinner?  No?  Ok, well, thanks again.  Take care.”

I walked out of that restaurant and didn’t look back.

Jules Rules For Dating

  1. If you’ve been arrested recently, seriously consider whether it’s a good idea to mention it to your date. (It’s not.)
  2. It’s NEVER a good idea to show off your mug shot. Maybe you were having a good hair day, but seriously, any other picture would be one to show off; not that one.
  3. Living with your parent is not really a selling point; you don’t need to mention it before the date. And then bring it up again on the date.  Communication is good, but stressing the fact that you’re a twenty-eight year old man living at home, is just not sexy.  Unless your father is a millionaire; I could see myself dating someone who lived in a mansion, or a castle.  You know, something with a separate children’s wing, so that I could wander around at night in my underwear and never see another person.  (Except maybe Albert, the Butler.)
  4. Don’t discuss relationships at work, especially not in a cube farm. The walls have ears.  And the people attached to those ears like to talk.  I’d rather be known for my technical expertise at work, not for the guys I’ve dated.

Why the hell did I date someone from work, anyway?!  Because I was a single mom who only ever went to work and home; I didn’t really have a chance to meet anyone elsewhere.  This happened in 2008, when I was new to Dallas and didn’t have many friends here.

I’m happy to say Calvin cured me of the impulse to look at my coworkers.  Ok, that’s not entirely true.  I do look, I just don’t act.  The company party was embarrassing enough, and I was sober!

On the other hand, it was nice to have a guy admit that breaking up with me was a big mistake.  Even though I don’t want him back, it’s nice to be wanted.  Now, if I can just find a guy who isn’t a womanizer who spends his weekends in jail…



Marry Me



Logan stands up, moves to the side of the table, then bends down on one knee.  “Lana, will you marry me?”  He looks up at me with big eyes and a tentative smile.

I gasp.  Breathe!  I tell myself, which is silly, because we’re already engaged.  After all, I made a playdough ring and he said yes.  To be nervous now is just…

Wow!  The ring is EXACTLY WHAT I WANTED!!  “How did you know?” I whisper.

He smiles, and I understand.

Last Week

Dixie puts a magazine in front of me and points at the ring.  “Lana, what do you think about this one?” she asks.

I scrutinize the picture.  “It’s too…I don’t know…round,” I say, and flip through the pages of the Bride magazine; one of many that my friend had brought to my house to peruse.  “There, that’s more like it,” I tell her, pointing to a marquis cut diamond.  “But I think I’d rather have a ruby.  It’s my birthstone, and I like it better than a traditional diamond.”

“Are you sure?  Doesn’t every girl dream of a princess-cut diamond?” Dixie asks, practically drooling over a picture of a traditional engagement ring.

I shrug.  “I want the whole proposal down on one knee in a restaurant, but I’m not getting that, am I?  So why should I want a traditional ring?  Mom hated hers; it caught on clothes and stuff, and she lost the stone once and had to have it replaced.  No, a nice, low-profile marquis cut is more my style.”

Dixie holds up a picture of a marquis-cut diamond surrounded by smaller diamonds, with baguettes down the side.  “There!  Whatcha think about that one?”

My turn to drool!  “It’s perfect!  Except…”

“I know,” Dixie finishes for me, “a ruby.”

“You know Logan can’t afford that.  Between his divorce and his student loans, he’s barely able to pay rent,” I remind her.

“A girl can dream,” Dixie says.  “And I still say that diamonds are a girl’s best friend!”

“Wasn’t that a Marilyn Monroe movie?” I ask.

Dixie winks at me.  “Yes, and it’s still true!”

Present Day

“You used Dixie to find out what kind of ring I wanted!” I say.

Logan smiled, a dazzling smile that almost knocked me off my seat.  Damn, he’s handsome when he does that.  “Yes,” he replied.

“How did you pay for this?” I asked with wide eyes.

“I had some money put away for a special occasion, and nothing is more special than this,” he admitted.  “Now, my legs are starting to cramp.  Would you please answer the question?”

“Yes!” I say.  “Yes, yes, yes!”

Clapping erupts around us as Logan stands.  I jump, not realizing that the entire restaurant had been watching and holding their breaths.  A couple of ladies come over to admire my new ring as Logan slips it on my finger.

“A perfect fit!” I say, then remember how Dixie had tried on my rings the week before.  “Dixie is a tricksey minx!”

Logan and I laugh together, then he pulls me into his arms for a kiss.  The lapels of his suit jacket are stiff and I have limited movement in my strapless dress, but we manage to inspire another round of applause.  I pull away, a little embarrassed to have an audience.

As we settle back down to finish dessert, Logan informs me, “I’m going to propose again on a mountain, because I know how much you love to hike.  But don’t expect another ring!”

I smile, touched.  “I would love that.”

“And then I’m going to propose to you again, on a boat, because that’s my favorite spot.  And I’m going to spoil you, so that you know how much I love you, so that I know you’ll always say yes,” Logan says.

I blink back the tears (happy ones) as I whisper, “Yes.  Yes, I always will.”



This work of fiction was requested by Sally Ann, by lovely daughter, as an alternate ending to How I Met Your Father.  This is how I would have preferred to be proposed to; in reality, we went to the jewelry store and I bought my own ring.

Do you follow me on Facebook or Instagram?  If so, you were privy to the pictures of bacon which looked suspiciously like male body parts.  If not, follow me!  It’s free, and I guarantee to make you giggle at least once a year.  😉


Dear God


Are you there, God?  It’s me, Jules.

I’ve been single for a year and a half now.  I know that you know that, just like you know that a year and a half is eighteen months.  That’s a long time to be single, God, especially for me.  I’m sure that’s some kind of personal record; I’m pretty sure my prior record was a year, and before that was 3 months.  18 is a lot bigger than 3, that’s for sure, especially when 18 months translates to 549 days.  That’s using 30.5 days/months, which is a good average but ignores the fact that February is lacking days.  I like math, God, as you also know; that’s one of the many reasons that I became an engineer.

But enough about me.  Tell Mom that I said hi.  I’m sure she’s good—hanging out with Jesus, scrapbooking with Grandma, spending time with her dad—my Grandfather, I mean, not you.  Though I’m sure you see her, too, since y’all live in the same neighborhood and all.

Anyway, I’m hoping you can help me with a teensy weensy problem: I need a boyfriend.  In a BIG way.  Seriously.

Today at work, one of my male coworkers told me, “I’m stripping down the model so that we can create an SLA.”  However, he paused before the word, “down,” and before I could think about what I was doing, I was picturing him up on stage at La Bare’s taking it all off.

And that man is fine, for the record, he could TOTALLY be an exotic dancer if he wasn’t such a kickass engineer.

My point is, I’ve been having impure thoughts.

Another example is that I don’t cut Nadia off as early as I used to.  I’ve even thought about letting her fix me up with someone.  I know, I know, I wouldn’t actually go there, but…I’ve been tempted.  When your bed has been cold as long as mine, you consider alternative solutions for warming it.

So, Lord, please send me a nice guy.  Who is also handsome.  And somewhat athletic; he doesn’t have to be Arnold-Swarzenegger-when-he-was-Mr.-Universe pumped, but since I work hard to keep my figure trim, I’d like a guy without a pot belly.  (The Dad Bod just is NOT my thing.)  And you know that I’m nerdy, so I really need an intellectual; at least, someone who can understand most of what I say, if not all.  And if he’s that smart, he might not care if I make more money than he does; though it might be nice to have a guy who makes more than me, so that he doesn’t feel weird about buying dinner, and so that I don’t have to buy dinner all the time out of guilt.

I don’t ask for much.  But you know, I’d really like a guy who hikes, so that he wants to go hiking with me.  A mountain man, rather than a beach bum.  Oh and a morning person would be ideal, since I’m an early riser.  Samuel and Mike were night owls, and I was ready for bed a couple of hours before they were ready to lay down.

God, I hope you grant this simple request.


PS Please look after Jack and Sally; keep them healthy and safe.

PSS Please look after my Dad and sister and their families as well.

PSSS I’d like him to be around 5’10”.  My new boyfriend, obviously, not Dad; he’s 6’, but you know that already.


PS Around 35 years old.  I wouldn’t mind a guy around 40, but you know that guys die younger than women, so I really would like a younger man, so that he’ll be around longer once I get him trained.




“Give yourself a wedgie,” the card reads.  “Keep it for two turns, or move your piece back 10 spaces on the board.”

I stare at the card in disbelief.  REALLY?!  The first card that I get in this crazy, truth-or-dare-like game, and it wants me to pull my underwear into my butt crack?!

My boyfriend looks over my shoulder, reads the card, and shrugs.  “Do it,” he says.

I sigh, and turn to whisper in his ear.  His twin brother shouts from the other end of the table, “We don’t have any secrets!  Say it loud enough for all of us to hear!  Otherwise, he’ll just tell us later!”

I am already weirded out about meeting my boyfriend’s twin brother.  I mean, I dated a twin before, but it’s still weird to look at someone who resembles your lover, but isn’t him.  ESPECIALLY when that man (the twin) is married to someone else, who is also at the table.  Along with the boyfriend’s sister, other brother, and his girlfriend.

On top of meeting all these people at once—and, oh yes, this is our first meeting—we’re playing this outrageous board game.

The girlfriend excuses herself from the table and waddles to the couch.  She’s five months pregnant, with her sweatpants rolled down under her baby belly and a tight tank top straining over the top.  She picks up her Kindle and starts reading.

The wife asks her, “What are you reading?”

“50 Shades of Gray,” she answers.

Everyone at the table laughs.  Leave it to the fourth time single mother to read a bondage and domination sex novel between cigarettes at a family gathering.

Though she provided a momentary distraction from the game, it couldn’t last.  All eyes turn to me expectantly.

“Well?” someone asks.

“Do it,” Boyfriend says.

My cheeks burn; they must be blazing red.  So much for charming his family, I think.  So much for making a great first impression!  I FINALLY meet a great guy, and when I get to meet his family, I get THIS card!  FML!

I read the card aloud, “Give yourself a wedgie.  Well, I can’t, because I’m wearing a g-string,” I tell the table.  Literally.  I am facing the table, talking to it, because I cannot look at his sister, sister-in-law, brother, or especially not my boyfriend’s twin!

The twin laughs!  “Show me!  I want proof!!” he says.

I turn to my boyfriend, silently begging him to stand up for me.

Boyfriend says, “Show them.”

So I stand up, turn around, lift the hem of my shirt, and pull down the top of my jeans, revealing the top of my hot pink, satin g-string underwear.

That’s right: hot pink.  Satin.  G-string.

“Show me the rest of it!” Twin said.

“Shut up!” his wife said.

And THAT was how I met the family.


This has been a throwback to 2011. 

PS. The same boyfriend is featured in “24 Ways to Ruin a Romantic Vacation” and “Don’t Speak to The Norms That Way.”

Elon, It’s Over



Elon, I had a huge crush on you, but I’m over it.  I was only halfway through your biography when I declared my affection, but now that I’ve read the rest and more news articles on you, I’m cured of my affection.  Here are the top reasons why.

  1. Sleeping in your office, seriously? I’ve already dated one workaholic (one of the Mikes), and I don’t want to do it again.  I need a man who will show up at least once a week. ()
  2. Two of your top executives quit because of your heavy-handiness. In your biography, you’re called a nano-manager.  That’s one step beyond micromanager.  It’s a real problem when you’re asking for schedules in 10-minute increments.  As one of your employees said, “Sometimes you just have to take a long shit.”  I don’t need a boyfriend who will question me if I’m in the bathroom for more than five minutes; hey, shit happens!
  3. “I do think of him as the Terminator. He locks his gaze on to something and says, ‘It shall be mine.’ Bit by bit, he won me over,” said Justine Musk, your first ex-wife. How about a little compromise, Mr. Musk?  Maybe you’d still be married, and maybe your top execs would still be working for you.  Like Sarah Conner, I’m running in the other direction.
  4. You expect your employees to work as hard as you do. According to the biography, you chewed out an employee for attending the birth of his child.  Ok, so you deny this.  Vance states, up front, that he fought for his journalist integrity; he said that there was an email, so I believe him; he was very careful to state facts, even if he chose to present more positive facts than negative ones.  If I were your girlfriend, would you expect me to work hard?  Listen, 9 or 10 hours is about all I care to work per day.  I’ll admit it, I enjoy vegging out in front of the TV when I get home, or reading blogs with a glass of wine in my hand.  Cheers!
  5. If you’re working 20 hours a day, and you have your kids 4 days a week, does that mean that I’d be taking care of them while you work? Your FIVE children?  My kids both had attitudes during their teenage years, so I can’t IMAGINE facing five teenage boys at once!  Much less twins and triplets, who team up against the rest of the world.  No thank you!  (Again, running in the other direction!)
  6. You fired your Pepper Potts. That is, Mary Jo Brown was your trusted secretary and right hand man (woman) for over a decade.  When she asked for a raise, you sent her on vacation, convinced yourself that you could live without her, and fired her.  That’s cold!  (Backing away slowly, then running in the other direction.)
  7. One of my friends tells a very different story of your involvement with Paypal. Instead of founder and inventor, he tells how your code copycatted another company’s, you inflated the number of users, and lied your way into a merger with the real Paypal company.  He used the word “charelton.”  Now, I heard this second hand; my friend is friends with members of the Paypal mafia.  Your version, I learned from Ashlee Vance, your biographer, paints a much brighter picture of your genius, HOWEVER that story is also second hand.  Which begs the question: would you trust a total stranger’s version or your friend’s?  Vance is a stranger to me, so naturally, I believe my friend’s version of events.  I really don’t want to date someone who would lie and cheat in business.  Again, no thank you!  (And, I’m so far gone, you can’t even see my dust.  Beep-beep!)

Elon, don’t call, don’t write, don’t text.  We’re through, before we even get started.

I’ll still be rooting for SpaceX to make it to Mars in 2018.  Good luck!  (I don’t want to work for you, either.  See reasons above.)

But seriously, don’t call.




What’s Going On?

“Oh, look, it’s Simon Chipmunk!” someone in the crowd says, looking out the mall window.  “He must be promoting his new movie, Chipmunks 10.

A motor boat sped by on the water, with a faded Chipmunk-costumed person waving at us.  Why was this exciting?  Because we had been standing in line at the Bed, Bath, and Beyond for what seemed like hours (it had probably been 10 minutes) and the line stretch around the corner, so that I can’t even see the cash registers.

I woke up.  Seriously, that dream was so boring, that instead of putting me to sleep, it made it wake up!  Chipmunks have more exciting lives than mine!

I don’t need a therapist to interpret the dream, either: my life has been boring lately.  Boring, Sidney!  Boring, Boring, Boring!

(Reference: Sid and Nancy.  They were drug addicts and rock stars of the Sex Pistols; but I guess even that lifestyle gets old after a while.  So they got married.  Eh, why not?  It was something to do.)

The reason that we were at Bed, Bath, and Beyond is that I’ve been spending a lot of time working on my house and thinking about it lately.  Riddle me this, Batman:

  1. If I sell my house, I could net a profit of $50,000 or more, which would pay off my student loans and then some! Or, I could throw one KILLER party!  (Don’t count on it.  I’m bored, not stupid.)
  2. If I sold my house, then I’d have to move into an apartment. That seems like a step backward, and I’d be paying the same amount of rent for a two-bedroom apartment as I pay for my mortgage on a four-bedroom house right now.  Oh, ya, housing in Dallas is stupid expensive right now!
  3. Sally (my darling daughter) wants one of the beds for the apartment she’ll be renting in August. So If I move now, I’d have to move the bed to a storage unit until August.  Then move it to Austin.  Which sounds like a lot of work for an old bed.
  4. If I wait until August to sell, then we can move the bed directly to her apartment, saving the cost of one move and the storage unit.
  5. What if home prices continue to rise? Will I kick myself for selling now?  Like people who used to own property in California worth $60k which is now work $1.5M.
  6. But what if prices fall – will I kick myself in a year if I don’t sell now?

This dilemma has been making my head ache for the past month or so.  I talked to a gentleman last night who thinks the housing market will stay strong for another two years, and will plateau before it declines.  Whew, I have some time to decide.

Because—do I really want to live in an apartment, with neighbors who may be noisy or have crying babies or take my parking spot?  I’d be paying the same amount per month for less space and less privacy, which is just wrong.

On the other hand, I’d be debt-free.  THAT would be awesome!  I could put money away for my next big trip instead of paying interest on mortgage loans and such.  So which is more important: living debt-free, or having a nice big house?

The Plan: I’m fixing all the little things around the house (broken tile, cleaning the grout, etc.) and will decide in August.  I don’t have to move now, so I’m not going to sweat it too much.

In Other News

My life hasn’t been completely boring.  I had a girls’ night at my house with some of my closest friends: Gabby Gumbo, Lolly, and Allie Apple.  The plan was to watch a movie, but we talked for 5 hours instead!  The takeaways:

  1. Men can be really stupid and/or clueless sometimes.
  2. Some guys know to send really good text messages – damn, I’m blushing just thinking about it!
  3. We WISH the same guys were that smooth in person!
  4. The guy who is going through the divorce doesn’t want to get married now, but he’ll come around. Right?
  5. That guy who is just my friend, but we’ve been texting a lot and hanging out some—the girls think that I should just invite him over and jump him.
  6. That guy who is just my friend, was drunk off his ass and texted this reply, “I wouldn’t be of any use to you.”

I’m also training for a Spartan Race (obstacle course race), which is completely insane and I don’t know WHAT I was thinking when I signed up.  I jogged two miles this morning and did 15 burpees.  I need to be able to run five miles and do 30 burpees to succeed in this race—and it’s on June 18!  Eeek!

And in other, other news: I had a perfectly professional, friendly meeting with a guy yesterday, one-on-one.  He didn’t say anything flirtatious or outrageous; he was 100% respectful.  Whoo hoo!  Gentlemen still exist!

Of course, he’s happily married.  Good on him!  Now, if I can find a nice gentleman who is single…

So see, my life really isn’t boring!  Well, not completely.  I swear I’m not standing in line at the mall for hours or keeping up with the Chipmunks—are they still making movies?  See, I don’t even know.  Grey’s Anatomy, The Big Bang Theory, and New Girl are my fav shows right now; I do not watch children’s movies!

The X Men aren’t for children, are they?  No?  Good.  Whew.  Because I do love my comic book movies!


PS New romance series coming soon.  Come back on Monday for deets!