Californication

 

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View from my balcony early one morning

San Diego, California, has been my home for three months now.  I can hardly believe it!  I’ve done more in that time than some people do in years, because I feel like every weekend is a vacation.  My hardest decision has been, do I go to the beach, or hike a mountain?!

Here are some of the places I’ve been:

  • Torrey Pines State Park is famous for its view of the ocean. I scrambled down a steep path (I would say, “hiked,” but I wasn’t that graceful) to the water.  Still, I wasn’t impressed.  Sorry, California, but it was just a walk, which I can do anywhere.
  • Black Mountain was better. Sally & Penny joined me for this one, back in December.
  • Iron Mountain was better still! I’m hitting it again today, because it kicked my ass last time.  In a good way.
  • Woodson Mountain was another good hike.
  • Little Italy, a neighborhood in downtown, was my home for two months. The food was superb and I love how walk-able the area is!  The farmer’s market on Cedar Street is open every Saturday; if you get a chance, go!  Buy some fresh fish or a tie-dyed shirt.  Or maybe some beef jerky.
  • Gas Lamp District is a famous neighborhood downtown. It’s full of clubs and bars; I visited during the day and said, “Reminds me of Austin’s 6th
  • La Jolla has some beautiful beaches. And sea lions.  And a Dr. Suess Museum!  It’s a magical place.
    • I took Gary Mathews there and he didn’t want to leave. I spent 20 minutes pushing him into his rental car.
  • Los Angeles is a two-hour drive, so I visited it, too. It’s crowded, dirty, and the beaches aren’t as nice.
    • Walking around the neighborhood checking out the area, a nice old man approached me. He was well dressed with a friendly smile, so I thought it was nice when hugged me and said that I was perfect.  “Oh, your boyfriend is so blessed to have you!  If you have one, that is,” he told me, then proceeded to kiss my neck.  Seriously, two seconds after I met him, he’s sexually assaulting me on the street, on a Sunday afternoon, in broad daylight.  THAT’S L.A.
    • Exception: my darling, talented, beautiful friend Amy Arrow lives there. She’s an artist actor and an amazing person.  If you ever get to see her in a movie or in person, do it!
  • Fashion Valley is a huge mall. One of my friends invited me to go shop there; I was so excited that a handsome man wanted my opinion on his pants, that I jumped at the chance.  After sitting in traffic, then circling the parking lot for 20 minutes, I realized that it was Christmas Eve.  DOH!
    • The mall is open air, which means that shoppers walk on the sidewalk outside to get to the stores. Why?  Because the weather here is so perfect so much of the time that you don’t need a roof over your head!
    • We saw “Rogue One” at the theater there. Although I hated the ending (he said that it fit), the movie was awesome!

As beautiful as it is here, it is definitely not Texas.  As I said in my last post, people don’t greet each other here like they do back home.  However, once I get a person talking, they are just as nice as anyone from the South.  It became a game to me, to see how many people I can get to smile and say, “Hi,” in the hall at work.  More and more are coming around.  My first week here, I made some new friends, and invited Heather and Heather over to watch the movie, “Heathers” (Winona Ryder and Christian Slader, 1998).

I visited Dallas a couple of weeks ago and saw as many friends as possible: Allie Apple, my sister & nieces, Elizabeth & Daniel & their darling children, Therese, Gabby Gumbo, and Andrew.  Each one is precious to me.  Visiting them was visiting home; spending time with them was like a shower to my soul.

Allie and I went to Billy Bob’s Texas, the World’s Largest Honky Tonk, in Fort Worth.  I’ve two-stepped there since I was 18 years old, and visiting it was like stepping back in time.  Yee haw!  (The cowboys are just as handsome as ever, only now they look so young !)

Next blog post: the guys I’ve met since I got here.  Peeps be cray cray!

Cheers!

PS For more pics, follow me on Instagram (jules_strawberry_rules) or Facebook (Jules Strawberry).  I also tweet, though not as often (JulesSberry).

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CA doesn’t allow as many billboards by the highway, so the views are spectacular!

 

 

Southern Hospitality

 

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Drunk Jules went shoppin’ at Billy Bob’s Texas on Saturday night.  That’s a whip in the middle.  Why she thought I needed a whip, I don’t know!  

 

“Bless his heart!” is a Southern phrase used to mean everything from:

  • If he were any stupider, he’d be a stump.
    • Also known as, “When God was handing out brains, he was at the back of the line.”
  • If she were any uglier, little children would run screaming.
    • Also known as, “She was beaten with the Ugly Stick.”

When Southerners are little boys and girls, we learn the more direct insults.  But then our parents beat us to within an inch of our lives with a hickory stick (not literally, that’s another idiomatic phrase), and we learn to be more respectful.  Some of us take longer than others to learn the lesson, and have more bruises on our behinds to prove it, but most of us eventually learn that we can say, “Bless his heart!” without any painful side effects.

Why are Southerners more likely to likely to greet you when walking past?

I’ve been in California for 3 months now, and I am appalled when I walk down the hall at work.  My coworkers avert their eyes, as though they must—MUST—not acknowledge my presence.  At first, I thought maybe the company had gone a little overboard with Sexual Harassment Training.  After all, a good way to avoid getting trouble with a female coworker, is to not look at her.  But then I realized that even the ladies would look right past me.  This happens on the streets, too.  Hmmm, must not be the training; it appears to be a cultural behavior.

I mentioned this to one of my female coworkers, who always smiles a big smile and makes eye contact when she sees me coming.  She moved from Dallas about two years ago; she’s good people.

“My theory is population density,” she wisely informed me.  “See, in the South, people are more spread out, and there are smaller towns.  So the people that you pass by, you see all the time, and there’s a small number of people in that group.  Conversely, in a large city such as San Diego, there are a LOT more people.  Therefore, it’s more difficult to greet everyone and to know everyone.  If you tried to say hi to everyone, you’d never get anything done!  You’d spend all day making small talk.”

AH!  That makes sense!  The small town in Louisiana where I attend middle school and my first two years of high school was Sulphur, Louisiana.   At the time, Sulphur had a population of 20,000 people.  While I didn’t know everyone (obviously), I saw the same people at church, school, and around the neighborhood.  Plus, contrast that with the 1.4 million people in San Diego.  That’s .02 versus 1.4 million.  Sulphur had less than 1.5% of the current population of San Diego.  Yep, that’s a BIG difference!

Another way of looking at this is, imagine you live in that small town.  You have a fight with Millie, the baker’s daughter.  At church, your mom says, “How come you ain’t sayin’ hi to Millie like’n you usually do?”

You can blow her off by asking, “What’s for lunch, Momma?” But it’s your Momma; she’s going to find out eventually.

“Daryl told Emma Jean who told Bobbi Jo who told Elvin that you crossed the street to avoid her on Friday after school,” your sister will not-so-helpfully offer.

Brother chimes in (because this is the South and we believe in having large families), “She gave you the Evil Eye when you wurtn lookin’, too.”

Then your other sister will add, “I heard from Kelvin who said that Millie stole your beau.”

And if you manage to wiggle out of that conversation, you’ll see Millie at school the next day.  And at the grocery store.  And at the church picnic.  It’ll get to the point that it’s either the Hatfield and McCoys (i.e. a blood feud that lasts generations and involves a few gun fights), or you make the peace.

Face it, making the peace is easier.  So you may end up making a statement like this, “Millie, I’m sorry that I blew spit wads at you in class after you talked to Jimmy.  Even though I had my eye on him, I had no true claim—I mean, I didn’t brand him like a cow or anything—so let’s just be friends, ok?  Momma made some peach cobbler, come on over.”

And so, Southern people are friendly because they can (low population density) and must.  ‘Cause you see the same folks all the dang time, so to the keep the peace you smile and say nice things.  Bless their hearts!

Cheers!

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I have lived in the South most of my life: Alabama, Louisiana, and my beloved Texas.

This post was in answer to a question from Dr. Gary Lum, “Why are Texans so friendly?”  If you’d like me to answer your question, email JulesRulesStrawberry@gmail.com.  My specialty is dating advice, but I have opinions and theories on just about everything.   Thanks, Gaz, for the question!

Next up: a summary of all the places I’ve visited in San Diego.  There’s a long list, my friends, because I don’t like to sit still!

Be good.  And if you can’t be good, be good at it!

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Wipe your boots before you come in side, y’all.

Bloggers on the Beach

 

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“Sorry I’m late, I stopped at the liquor store to buy some hooch,” Gary Mathews told me.  His accent is a thick southern Indiana drawl.  Don’t say, “Kentucky” because he hates that state, but the accent is super close.

We stood in front of Rubio’s Coastal Grill, a restaurant which specializes in fish tacos.  Since Gary had tasked me with finding the best fish tacos in San Diego, I had asked him to meet me here.  He crushed me in a bear hug, made the comment about the hooch (liquor, for those of you who are not well-versed in Southern slang), and we went inside.

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“OhmyGod these are so good,” he mumbled around his first bite.

Whew, he likes ‘em!  He likes ‘em!  Mission accomplished!

That was Wednesday night and we only had a short time together before he jumped back in his rental car and cruised into the night.  He was in town for a Dad’s Blogger Convention.  That is, a bunch of bloggers who are fathers and blog on fatherhood were having a convention in downtown San Diego.  Gary is so famous, that he received a scholarship to attend, and was as excited as a tick at a dog convention.

Gary and I met each other online, when this blog was new.  We became a Mutual Admiration Society, posting comments and likes on each other’s posts, until finally we moved to texting.  We skyped a few times and I became his dating coach.  Seriously, he’d send me usernames for the women that he was interested in on Match, and I would read between the lines to tell him what the profile was REALLY communicating.  I’m happy to say that I helped him woo Ms. Madison, a charming school teacher and single mom who is now his fiancée.  Hey, Gary, can I put you down as a reference when I become a full time Dating Coach?  I’ll count you as one as my first success stories!

He paid me back by reviewing Match profiles of guys for me, too.  Unfortunately, his dating coach skills aren’t as good as mine.  Gary, stick to what you know!  Don’t quit your day job!

BTW, Gary is a riot!  He made me laugh so hard I doubled over!  Honestly, this is a regular occurrence, whether I’m reading his blog or texting him.  For example: on Thursday night, he wanted to go out, so I told him to check out the Gas Lamp District.  It’s the famous downtown with all the clubs and bars.

Gary said, “If I were 20 years old and loaded, I’d tear it up!  This place is outta my league!  The bartender is dressed like a hooker.  Man, I’m outta here!” He sent a picture to back up his assertion, and I must admit, her short skirt was almost a belt.

The man can also be smooth, I found out.  He made a comment on one of my Facebook posts that rubbed little Sally Ann the wrong way—she’s very protective of me—and I thought World War III was about to commence.  Instead, Gary commented back to her, “I meant no offense!  Why, your mom talked my ear off about you on Wednesday, so much that I’m ready to adopt you myself!”

Sally was mollified and properly flattered.  She thanked Gary and called off the nuclear arsenal that she had been prepping.

Luckily, Gary (aka The Skipah) made time for me on Sunday, too.  We visited the famous Cove in La Jolla, which is only 30 minutes from my apartment.

Pause for a minute.  How awesome is it that the beach is 30 minutes from my apartment?!  And that the mountains are a short 20 minute drive in the other direction?!  OH MY GOD I LIVE IN A POSTCARD!!

Ok, I’m back now.  Gary looked at the sea lions and said, “You’re right, they do look kinda like slugs.”  A few minutes later, he added, “I smell ‘em now!  I’m ready to go – I need more fish tacos!”

He was a trooper!  Our hosts (one of my coworkers and his fiancée) led us a few miles around town.  We walked along the beach, then back through town for fish tacos (which weren’t as good as Rubio’s) and gelato.  Gary and I bought trinkets at some souvenir shops, which reminds me: Gary, I need a pic of Sloane in her new t-shirt!  It’s day-glo yellow, which I think is gawd-awful but which seems to be in style.  I hope she likes it!

Gary’s overall assessment of La Jolla was summed up in two sentences, “Waaaah!  I have to go home tonight!  WHY?!”

That’s how Sally & Penny felt when they visited, Gary, so you’re in good company.

Gary texted me after he got home, “#FriendsForLife.”

I replied, “#ForeverFriends.”

Yep, I’m headed to a wedding in Indiana in the near future.  Stockpile the hooch, there’s a Texan headed to Madison!

See more pics on my Instagram (jules_strawberry_rules) or Facebook page (Jules Strawberry).  I also tweet amusing things occasionally under the handle “JulesSBerry.”

Dr. Gary Lum sent in a question which I’ll answer next week.  He asked, “Why are Texans so friendly?”  I have a theory, folks, which will knock your socks off!

Ok, maybe the socks will stay on, but it’s still a fabulous theory, endorsed by several California engineers!  These engineers may know nothing about social engineering or psychology or sociology, but they’re friends of mine, so they *must* be right.  Right?

Anywho, check back next week for more entertainment!

Cheers!

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Romantic Thoughts (and Second Thoughts)

 

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“Will you marry me?” Daniel asked his girlfriend.

“Might as well, we’re already living together,” she said, distracted by the people rushing past her.

They went back into the concert and he told his parents, “She said yes.”

“Well of course she did!  Now be quiet, the show is about to start,” his mom replied.

Ok, I’m exaggerating.  Maybe everyone was a little more excited than that.

But here it is, a year later, and they are no closer to getting married.  The would-be-bride hides behind her frugalness with conversations like this one.

“That’s too expensive.  Why should I pay someone $2,000 so that I can get married on the beach?  It’s the beach, for God’s sake!”

Daniel replies, “There’s a permit to reserve the gazebo and chair rental.  Someone sets up the chairs and takes them down after.”

“Let’s have the guests bring some blankets and we’ll have the ceremony real quick, so that there’s not time for anyone to call the cops on us for not having a permit.  Sheez, who needs chairs for that price!” she answers.

And yet, a year later, no wedding date has been set.

Do some people really dream of someday attaining this stunning level of (non)commitment to the mediocre?  I want more.  I want someone who is fired up about marrying me.  My preacher spoke on that in his last sermon.  We should be fired up for God.  “This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine!  Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine!”  I’m not trying to compare myself to the Almighty, but I want some semblance of excitement in my intended, when the time comes.

I mean, just look at Sally Ann, my lovely daughter.  Just don’t look too close, ‘cause Penny will hurt you!

Joking!

But seriously, Penny is stronger than she looks.  Stand back.

Sally and Penny were engaged last July.  Sally has planned and re-planned the wedding.  She has Plan A and Plan B, and a smile on her face at the thought of getting hitched if it all falls through!

I added a Plan C, for California.  “Get married in Texas, however you please.  Then come renew your vows on the beach,” I told her.  Don’t tell the future Mrs. Daniel, but I’d happily pay $2k to see my daughter as a blushing bride on a La Jolla beach.

That’s how love should be – contagious!  Everyone should want to take part!  Originally they were going to wait until after she graduated with her undergraduate degree, but why wait?!  When it’s right, it’s right!

I don’t know whether things will work out with Daniel and his lovely lady.  After all, they may be perfectly happy fiancées  forever.  Or, they could decide to elope this weekend.

All I know is, I want what Sally and Penny have.  I want someone who shines for me.  And I want someone who lights a fire in me.

Really, it’s been too long since I’ve enjoyed a good, hot romance.  And that’s ok.  I’d rather have no romance, than a lukewarm one, any day!

Happy Valentine’s Day!  Or, as Nadia says, Happy VD!

Cheers!

Jules

P.S. Gary Mathews came to visit!  More on that in my next post.

 

Happy New Year! 2017

“Om!  Ommm!” the class chanted.

I sat in yoga class, meditating, as we looked inward.  This was a special yoga class, from 10 p.m. to midnight on New Year’s Eve, at Pura Vida in downtown San Diego.

The teacher led us through an exercise where we paired with another person and completed the sentence, “I am…”

My answers were:

  • Intelligent
  • Confident
  • Sexy
  • Mother of two
  • Mechanical engineer
  • Texan
  • Sister
  • Daughter
  • Loyal friend
  • Mentee
  • Mentor
  • Sex goddess

Ok, so maybe that last one is just wishful thinking.

“Now, we’re going to pull out another piece of paper, and write down all our negative thoughts.  All the bad stuff that happened to you, all the things that are weighing you down—I’m just going to say it.  Get that shit out!”

I am happy to say that my list was pretty short.  Some people were scribbling furiously and a few even turned their papers over to write on the back.  Later, we tore up the paper, and the teacher collected the pieces to burn later.  It was freeing, that act of ripping up all the things that I wished had never happened.

2016 was certainly an interesting year for me, complete with a move from Texas to California.  The new job is treating me well; I’m learning new software and making new work friends.  The job is with a big company, which I find refreshing after working at a small company for over a year.  While knowing everyone at the company was cool, just one difficult coworker made my work much less fun.  At a larger company, one difficult person is much easier to ignore or avoid.  Also, this large company has more narrowly defined roles, so I can concentrate on my core job.  Learning how to perform extra tasks was interesting, but I’d rather leave challenging technical work like detailed structural and thermal analyses to the experts.  I like doing preliminary analyses, but people spend years becoming experts, and I can’t be an expert in everything.

Outside of work, I re-joined Match.com.  I’ve discovered that I’m anxious about guys finding my blog.  What will they think of me?  Will they think I’m a desperate loser who can’t keep a guy?  Or will they think the insight into my psyche is priceless, like Zach did?  Will they think that anything I wrote about them is charming and cute, or get angry that I wrote anything at all?

Another dimension to this is my career: I’ve shared the website with some of my closest coworkers, then I’ve tempered my posts, knowing they might read it.  This is silly, I know; I should either not share the website with people I know, or write with confidence.

At any rate, all of this anxiety is taking some of the fun out of blogging, so it’s time to shut down this website.  It’s been fun, it’s been therapeutic, and it’s been good writing practice.

Another dimension to this is, I’ve come to a point where I want to write to further my career.  I’m writing a textbook based on the lessons I’ve learned about a niche topic, which doesn’t seem to have enough in print about it.  I want to put my energy into that, instead of into dating guys who won’t remember me in a week and guys who I’ll hope to soon forget.

I still have books two and three outlined of Jules Rules – Dating Adventures; I may yet publish them.  But not this year.

Happy New Year!  Good luck in all that you do!

Cheers!  Ommmmm!

Jules

PS A guy from Match sent me a dick pic last night, which also helps to cement my decision to date less.  It’s only the 2nd one that I’ve ever received; the other was sent during October, wearing a pair of devil horns with the caption, “Happy Halloweenie!”

Guys, even if it has a cute costume, I do NOT want a picture of you cock.  And I would bet good money that none of the other women do, either.  Keep it in your pants!

Jules Rules

  1. Do what you love, and love what you do.
  2. Live confidently. If you make a mistake, own it.  Mistakes are lessons to be learned.  Learn them, and move forward.
  3. Your dreams should be so big, that they scare you. “Reach for the moon; if you miss, you’ll land amongst the stars.”
  4. If you have a choice of laughing or crying, laugh. There’s a time to cry; but laughing is usually more fun.
  5. Take chances. See above; they haven’t always paid off for me, but hey!  I’m doing great!
  6. Don’t send dick pics. Just, don’t.  The recipient either knows what it looks like or doesn’t want to know; either way, keep it to yourself.  ‘Kay?  Thanks.
  7. If you get invited to do yoga on New Years, or at any time at Pura Vida, go!  You may need it more than you think.

 

Sex is Just Scratching an Itch

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“Sometimes you need sex like you need to scratch an itch,” my date told me.  “I told that to my 15-year-old son.  He believes that you need to be love to have sex, and that just isn’t true.”

I choked on my wine.  “I’ll take awkward conversations for $1,000, Alex,” I said, pretending that I was on a game show.  This wasn’t a conversation that I wanted to have on a second date.

“This is awkward?  How is this awkward?” he asked. “Oh!”

The San Diego Gulls missed making a goal.  Or, rather, the goalie for Oakland was too good to let the puck through.

My date wouldn’t let the subject drop.  “It’s like scratching an itch, right?”

I took a deep breath.  I really liked this guy, up to this point.  I could agree with him, just to keep the peace.  But…I’m not a passivist; I believe in speaking my mind and he was asking for my opinion.  So I gave it to him.

“I believe that women in general, myself included, form emotional attachments easily.  I can’t do casual sex.  I tried; it’s just not for me,” I said.

There, how’s that for side-stepping the issue?

But still, he wouldn’t let it go.  “You don’t think that there are just times when you need sex?”

Wow.  He REALLY was seeking buy-in here; I just couldn’t give it to him.  “I believe that we should teach our kids to be better than us.  I would tell my kids—and have—to wait to have sex after they find someone special.”

What really bothered me about this conversation was the implications of his statement.  Consider that if I have a muscle cramp, I’ll go to a massage therapist.  If I had back aches, I might go to chiropractor.  If one considers sex to be an itch, then one might also pay a professional for a fix.  I wonder if he has frequented prostitutes; he mentioned frequent trips to Las Vegas earlier.  It’s a cheap, 45-minute plane ride from San Diego, he had said.  Of course, the two conversations may have been unrelated; but maybe not.

But, may be.

Another, more logical, thought process it to consider FWBs (friends with benefits) to be normal.  Hey, if you have one, that’s great; enjoy yourself. (Cough, NADIA!)  As I told my date, that arrangement never worked out for me; I always grew attached.

Was he gaging my reaction, to see if he could introduce me to his FWB in the future?  Wondering if I’d be cool?

“He wanted to sleep with you,” a guy friend told me.  “It’s a little sick that he used his kid to bring up the topic, but he was feeling you out to see if you’d be open to the arrangement.”

For the record, this particular guy friend is in another state and happily married, so he is not trying to get into my pants.  Or, at least, I trust his assessment as much as I trust anyone’s.

Or was my date trying to justify an affair?  He mentioned only vague reasons for his marriage ending.  Maybe when he said, “my marriage was over, so I walked away,” he meant, “We weren’t sleeping together anymore, so I found someone to scratch that itch.”

Supposition aside, it really bothered me that he’d teach his kid that.

“He’s teaching the kid the way the world works,” my friend Allie Apple said, “but, wow, some things, kids need to find out on their own.  Parents don’t need to tell kids that.  Is he trying to teach the kid how to be a player?”

I’m not sure of all his reasoning.  I only know that I disagree.  I’ll scratch your back if you ask nicely, but I have to a bit more involved with you before I scratch other things.

Next

On the way to the grocery store yesterday, I met a guy.  I live downtown now, so I walk to the store with my empty backpack and canvas bags.  I love that I don’t have to drive on the weekends. (Although I did drive earlier yesterday to hike in Torrey Pines State Park.)

A nice man said hello to me at the corner near the grocery store.  Turns out that he was going there, too, with his empty backpack.  As we chatted, we discovered how much we had in common: both engineers, both in the same industry, both writers, both interested in science fiction.  He bought me a gluten free chocolate chip muffin and we exchanged numbers.

That night, he showed me around our little corner of downtown.  He introduced me to a fabulous restaurant (Seasons 52), then showed me where Top Gun was filmed.

Y’all, I had a glass of wine in the bar where Tom Cruise sang, “You lost that lovin’ feelin’!!”

AHHHHHH!!!

The place is a small dive bar, nothing fancy, called Kansas City BBQ.  The way that my date explained it, the owner sampled different BBQ sauces in Kansas City and made his version based on the best.  I’ll have to judge another day; I was full from dinner.

As my date sat there and talked about his plans to move to LA or Canada, he’s not sure which, I soaked in the atmosphere.  Bras hung from a ceiling fan.  Ball caps from various sections of the Navy were tacked to the ceiling.  And, oh yes, there was movie memorabilia everywhere.

And, yes, my date is probably moving back to Canada.  So don’t expect a long-term romance.  I don’t like to date guys who live more than 30 minutes away; a different country would definitely be a deal breaker.

Still, it’s a fun story, right?!  He may be a famous Hollywood writer one day and pitch my book to some television execs as a mini-series.  He mentioned it, so it may happen.  I dream big.

The best part of the night was when Garth Brooks’ “Friends in Low Places” came on, over the speakers.  I shouted out, “Everybody, I’m from Texas, and we sing along to this song!”

“Go for it!” several people told me.

“Blame it all on my roots, I showed up in boots, and ruined your black-tie affair!” I sang.  And then I sang along with the rest of the song.  Heck, this may be the alcohol talking, but I did a damn fine job!  The bar patrons applauded after every verse.  All that karaoke finally paid off!

Later, when I recapped the evening to my friend Allie, she said with a laugh, “You Texas-up California!”

“Huh?” I asked, eloquently.

“A bunch of Californians moved to Texas, and are making it more like California,” she explained.  “They’re California-ing-up Texas.  So you are in California, bring some Texas to them, and Texas-up California.”

Took a minute for that to sink in.  “You’re saying that there are so many California transplants in Texas that it’s starting to feel like California, so I should make San Diego feel like Texas?” I asked.

“Yes!” she said.

“I can do that!” I said with a laugh.

And I will.

But don’t expect me to go around scratching itches.  I sing at the top of my lungs in little dive bars when Garth comes on, I’ll cuss like a sailor when the moment calls for it, but I’m still a lady, damn it.

Cheers!

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3 Bachelors Down, 1 Still in the Running

 

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The Hotel Del Coronado was decked with Christmas Lights

My first weekend in San Diego, I had three guys lined up, and all of them disappointed me in different ways.  Three!

The reason that I made a Match.com account was because Carol told me that I should.  She gave me precise instructions, which I’ve vowed to follow.  Carol, this is all your fault!

Bachelor #1 started out strong with an email that complimented my profile and picked a specific topic to discuss.  After two emails, he asked if he could call me, and I said yes.  We had a terrific conversation!  He asked if I’d like to go out on Saturday, and I accepted.  I like that he moved quickly; it showed real interest, like we had a connection.

But then he sent me a picture and said, “My face looks fat.  I’m not really that fat.”

I laughed, because women are usually the ones who feel insecure about their looks.  So I sent him a full-body selfie and said, “I’m just as fat as I look!”

Now, I’m not perfect, but I do believe that I look good.  I don’t usually call myself the f word (fat), but I was trying to make a point: pictures don’t lie.

He didn’t respond to my jest.  A couple of days later, on Friday, he texted, “Hi, Julie, how has your week been?”

I replied, “I’m about to start driving, can’t talk now, will text you when I get home.  Week has been good!”

Once I was home, I added, “How was your week?”

He responded, “Good.  I was going to ask you if you wanted to meet up for Happy Hour and wait out the Friday traffic.”

Huh.  Ok, nice thought, but too late.  He couldn’t have texted an hour earlier?

I replied, “Oh hey, that would’ve been great, but I’m home now.  How about tomorrow?”  As in, Saturday.  As in, the day that we said that we were going to get together.

“I’m meeting up with a friend at 4 p.m.  I was hoping it would be earlier,” he texted.

OUCH.

I read his words a couple of times, and every time it came back to, “I’ve got a date with someone else on Saturday, so could we do something before that?  You don’t rate a Saturday night date, but I’d like to meet you, in case I want to take you out some other time.  Or, you know, if the other woman doesn’t put out, I’ll definitely schedule you for next weekend.”

Ok, so maybe I read a little too much between the lines.  However, he could have (and should have!) said, “I’d love to take you out for lunch,” or, “I want to take you to this cool brunch place,” or a hundred other ways of letting me know that he really wants to see me.

Instead, he let me know that he’d fit me in, around the date that he’s really looking forward to.

I didn’t text him back.

I pinged Carol, “Can you believe he said this?!”

She answered, “San Diego guys are ducks.  Just go out at 1p.m. or tell him to fuvk off.”

I guess she doesn’t like to cuss.  I answered, “Ok then!”

Bachelor #2 innocently asked me for more pictures.  I told him, “You’ll see me soon enough,” because we had plans to meet up on Friday night.

But then, I thought about it, and a good way to make sure that you’re not being catfished is to ask for a candid, right-now photo.

Definition: Catfish – verb.  When two people meet online, and one posts another person’s pictures fraudulently, leading the other person to believe that he/she is someone he/she is not.  See Catfish the movie, Catfish the TV show, or the life story of Notre Dame football star Manti Te’o.

So the second time he asked me (after some solid conversation), I capitulated and sent a cute selfie.

“More, please!” he asked.

“Your turn!” I answered.

He sent me a quick one, and he looked exactly like his online photos.

So just to be funny, I sent him one of me from Halloween, wearing my pirate costume.  It’s an elaborate costume with head scarf and hat.  The coat, trousers, and boots cover almost every inch of my skin, except my face and hands.

“You look sexy in that pirate outfit!  Is it bad that I got turned on by the pictures you sent me?” he texted.

He texted me that at 9:38 a.m. on a week day.  He was AT WORK.

Just…no.  I don’t sext.

Definition: Sext – verb.  To send provocative and/or nude pictures to another person online via text, email, or some other means for the purpose of arousing them.  See also Cybersex, which involves Skype or another video software.

I didn’t text back.  When he texted later asking how my day was, then I texted back.

“Are you going to take me out for drinks in Little Italy?”  I asked.  San Diego is comprised of neighborhoods (which would be cities back in Texas).  Little Italy is one of the downtown areas.

“Haha, is that where you live?” the Picture King said.

“ATM,” I responded, meaning, “Yes, that’s where I live at the moment.”

“Why don’t you come up to Encinitas?” he replied.

OMG Encinitas is at least a 30-minute drive from downtown, and probably longer at 5 p.m. on Friday, which is when this convo occurred.  It was a major turnoff that he wasn’t willing to drive to come see me, and more of a turnoff that he expected *me* to drive to see him.  Why hadn’t we planned this, instead of exchanging pictures?

“Not tonight.  Just drive up to UTC and back to check out a condo; that was 45 minutes in traffic coming home,” I wrote.

“Would that be an invite for me to spend the night at your place after going for drinkings? :-P” he sent.

OMG I haven’t even MET this guy and he’s asking if he’s going to get lucky!!

“No,” was my reply.

“Okay hah no worries,” he sent.

He and Bachelor #1 tried to contact me a few times after that with, “How are you?” texts, but I didn’t answer.  Creeps.

Bachelor #3 came on strong, calling me as soon as I’d let him and telling me how it’s going to me.

“I’m a Scorpio, baby!  Let me be a man and plan the date!  You say you want to go hiking.  I say, let’s sit on the beach and drink, somewhere nice, so you can be all dressed up and not have to worry about it.  Hiking!  Ha!  I’m wearing the pants, I got this!” he said.  “We’ll go hiking another day.”

I actually laughed.  I thought it was funny that he wanted to take charge; we wouldn’t last long.  But hey, I’m all for trying new things.

Later that day, he texted me, “Send me a picture.”

Uh oh, here we go again.  So I sent him a selfie right then – very little makeup, just me and an old t-shirt.

“Oh baby you’re so beautiful.  Don’t be shy, show me the rest of you.  Give me a full body shot,” he texted.

Sigh.  Ok, here’s me in my old t and yoga pants.  Nothing too exciting.

“You have those huge tits, I love em,” he texted.

  1. Calling me beautiful is one thing, commenting on the size of my chest is another. But, this guy had been great so far, so I tried to salvage the conversation.  “Hey, take it slow!  I’m a good girl.”

“I just meant that you look fantastic,” he quickly clarified.

Ya, right.

“Now send me one of you,” I texted back.  Again, this is a good way to ensure that there is no catfishing going on.

“Now?  I just got done working out.  I’m naked,” he texted.

“LOL no, not naked!  Put some clothes on,” I replied.

About 15 minutes later, he texted, “I’m still killing it at the gym.”

Is he working out naked?  Or did he stop in the middle of the workout to text me and change clothes?

Jack told me, “He wanted to see if you’d accept naked pictures.  That’s what he wants.”

I never did get a candid photo from Bachelor #3.  I refused to text him until I did.  And so, there goes that guy.

Bachelor #4

And then there was this guy.  He sent short answers to my emails, but they were articulate and concise.  He’s handsome and a professional; everything that I wanted.  At this point, I just wanted someone who wasn’t going to ask me for naked pictures.

He asked for my phone number and we agreed on a time to chat.  Except, he got busy at work, and asked if we could meet for a drink instead.  Since I’m much better in person than on the phone (non-verbal communication is a large part of the convo for me), I agreed.

My 2nd week in San Diego, we had a great first date!  On a Monday night, nonetheless!

Even though I’m a total dork and I said this, “My friend from high school is going to be in town this weekend, so I won’t be able to hang out.  I’m letting you know this *now* because, I don’t want you to think that I’m blowing you off.”

He looked at me a little strangely, thought about it, and said, “I understand.  Thanks for telling me.”

And so my 2nd weekend in California, I had a fabulous time with my high school friend.  We visited La Jolla (the Cove and Winden Sea), Coronado Island (which is really an isthmus), and Little Italy (Farmer’s Market and Italian restaurants).  It was truly amazing!

My 3rd weekend will be spent with Bachelor #4 on Friday night and a new guy on Saturday.  Even though I’d like to believe that Bachelor #4 is the man of my dreams, I’ve got to be realistic.  And the reality is that the new guy (#5) asked me to go a play on Saturday before #4 asked me out.  Even though I’d really rather spend the time with #4, because he’s awesome.

More about him another time.  I don’t want to jinx it by saying too much!

But he really is awesome: handsome, smart, sarcastic…and he has great taste in women, because he wants to see me again!

YAY!  Thanks, Carol!

Cheers!

Jules Rules

  1. Don’t ask me for more photos.  I put 10 online and if you’re lucky, you’ll get to see me in person.
  2. Ok, you can ask for one candid.  But don’t make rude comments about my attributes!  (By which I mean my titties!)