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!


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.


Ugh, I’m bored


“Ugh, I’m bored,” he texted me at 8 p.m. on Saturday night.

He was not my son, nor was he a teenager, like you might expect.  He was a friend that had previously asked me out, later cancelled, and never rescheduled.  AND he’s 45 years old!!  Old enough to KNOW BETTER!!

Here’s a tip for you: if you want to see me on Saturday night, ask me out by Wednesday.  Don’t wait until Saturday night and express your boredom, however elegantly.

Of course, this was a booty call.  He expected the convo to go something like this:

“Me, too,” I text.

“Why don’t you come over?  We can watch a movie or something,” he’d reply.

Warning!  “Something” in this context means sex!!

“Eh sure,” I’d say, bored and possibly clueless.

I may not be psychic, but I’ve had one or two or ten similar convos in my lifetime.  Sometimes, they even cured my boredom, if you know what I mean (wink, wink, nudge nudge!).

*Back To Reality*

My real response was, “I’m having a great time.”  Because truthfully I was out with friends having a blast.  (Shout out to my homies – you rock!)

Then I thought about it, laughed a bit with my friends, and we sent him, “I’m drunk!  Whatcha doin’?”

Note: this was a trap.  Anything sent back to me would been read out loud and mocked by everyone present.  This is what happens when you send a stupid text to me and I’m out drinking, though I think most people would do the same. At least, that’s what my friends tell me, while they’re egging me on.

Plus, I may have mocked him even if I wasn’t drinking.

That gentleman (wisely) didn’t text again.  Maybe one of the other women that he texted replied.  Because men who send out texts like that ALWAYS text more than one woman.  Sorry, Suzy*, you’re not the only one, so quit thinking you’re special when you get that booty call.

I did receive another text that night, only from someone else.  “How was the rest of your day?” The gentleman asked. This was a guy who had taken me to lunch.  And yes, he had contacted me prior to Wednesday to set it up—on Monday, in fact!

I smiled as I answered that text.

Jules’ Rules

  1. If you want to see me on Saturday, contact me by Wednesday.
  2. If you send me a stupid text when I’m drinking, you will be mocked. (And possibly when I haven’t been drinking, too.)
  3. Asking me how my day was, is much nicer than a booty call, and much better received.


*I do not know anyone named “Suzy.”  This comment was for naive women in general.

PS In other news, my titties are normal!  #AnnualMammogram

Motley Crue (Chapter 2)

“Wanna go to a concert?” Tall, dark, and handsome asked. Derek wore his Albertson’s uniform: navy blue baseball cap, polo, and black pants.

I was in my Albertson’s uniform, too: white button up, navy blue apron, and black pants. I was standing at my register. As a recently separated single mom, I was surprised he asked me. After all, an attractive man had options.

“Sure, ya,” I said. “Which concert?”

“Awesome! Saturday, Motley Crűe. You can buy your ticket from Ticket Master; I’ve already got mine. Should be about 20 bucks. Cool! So I’ll get your address later.” He winked at me and went back to the Seafood Counter.

Ok, so he asked me out—but I’m buying my own ticket? I was a little thrown off, but still excited. I’ve got a date! My first date in almost two years!

Fran, a fellow cashier, saw the exchange and came over to chat. At 9 a.m. on Tuesday, no customers in sight, we had time to talk.

“What did Derek want?” Fran asked, dislike clear in her voice. At 5’8”, she had two inches on me, but my long brown hair was 6 inches longer than hers. She was average in every other way: average weight, average looks, and brown eyes. We had worked together and become friends over the past 4 months.

“He asked me to the Motley Crűe concert,” I answered.

She made a face. “Why would you do that?!”

“Uh, I said I would. He’s nice enough. And cute,” I said in defense of my decision, confused that I had to defend it.

“I went out with him before. We were sitting on the couch, kissing, and he tried to—you know—do stuff. I wasn’t into it.” She shuttered with revulsion.

Again, I wasn’t sure what she wanted from me. If you don’t want to kiss a guy, don’t kiss him. If he tries more and you’re not into it, tell him to stop. Still, I was concerned. “When was this?”

“I dunno, months ago, maybe even a year. I tell ya, stay away from him.” She went back to her register to check out a customer.

“Thanks for the advice,” I said, though I wasn’t sure what to do with the info.

Fran’s customer was a regular; he was in his late 60’s. Still very spry, but maybe as old as my grandfather (65). He always made small talk and made us smile. I went over to say hello.

“Always a pleasure to see you lovely ladies smile,” he said with a grin of his own. Fran had finished checking him out and was standing in the bagging area at the back of the register. She gave him a hug.

Now, I’m naturally a hugger; my friends and I hug “hello” and “goodbye.” I have never before hugged a customer, but I figured that it couldn’t hurt.

That old man had a young man’s dirty mind! He hugged me and then pulled his hands over the sides of my breasts as he pulled away. To a casual observer standing at a distance, it might look incidental. His eyes followed his hands, which pressed hard enough that I knew it was intentional. I was stunned; I felt violated.

The man left and I told Fran, “He just felt me up!”

She looked at me with disbelief, “Mr. Reynolds? No way. I was standing right here; I didn’t see anything.”

I tried to explain what happened, but she thought that I made it up. I realized that reporting it would be useless; it would be his word against mine. It wouldn’t help if Fran sided against me. One thing was clear: I wouldn’t be hugging any more customers!

And if Fran wasn’t going to believe me about Mr. Reynolds, then I wouldn’t listen to her about Derek.

I got felt up by an old man! EWWWW!!

Getting Ready

My ticket cost $30 and I had to drive across town to get it.

Then I had to figure out what to wear. I wanted to make a good impression and look nice for Derek, so I tried on several outfits before settling on a black silk tank top, gray skirt, and heels. I fixed my hair and makeup and asked my sister, “Well? What do you think?”

Sister made an effort to be nice, indicated by the way she scrunched up her face and hesitated a minute before answering. As a single college student, she was the closest thing to a dating expert that I had.

“Uh, sweetie, you look very nice, but aren’t you going to a concert?”

“Yes,” I said, in a small, sheepish voice.

Which concert?”

“Motley Crűe.”

“Um, ya. Sweetie, you’re a little over dressed.” She led me back into my bedroom, where she pulled out a t-shirt and blue jean shorts. “This is what you should wear to a concert.”

I balked. “It’s a first date! I have to make a good impression!”

“You’ll most likely be sitting in the grass. You’d ruin that skirt.”

We compromised. I wore my black silk tank top with blue jean shorts (nice ones, with the ends folded up neatly). Sister lent me her gold chain necklace.

“Whatever,” Sister said. “It’s a little dressy, but okay.”

Derek’s Arrival

The doorbell rang and I was so excited that I nearly ran to the door. Sister put her hand on my arm and said, “Wait. You don’t want to appear over-eager.” She counted to ten, then let me open the door.

I hardly recognized the man standing there: brown Mohawk (not spiked up, thank goodness), plaid button up with the sleeves torn off, dirty cut-offs, and shades. How did I not know that he had a Mohawk? I asked myself, stunned. Oh, ya, he wears a baseball cap at work. He looked like every parent’s nightmare.

“Let’s go!” he said. No comment on how nice I looked. No, “How’s it goin?” Just, “Let’s go.” I smiled stiffly and followed him to his car, which was almost as dirty as his shorts.


The Concert

We arrived at the coliseum without incident. Walking from the parking lot into the building, Derek stopped and picked up a discarded cigarette box. He looked at it, then threw it back down. A couple of feet later, he repeated those actions. I looked at him quizzically.

“I’m collecting Marlboro Miles,” he said, matter-of-factly. “You know, Marlboro cigarettes puts a certain number of miles on each pack near the UPC. You collect ‘em and trade ‘em for stuff.”

“I know. I smoke. I used my miles to get a beach blanket, a tote bag, and some lighters.”

“Cool, so you know what I’m talking about.”

“You don’t smoke, do you? I haven’t seen you outside with the smokers.”

“No, I just pick ‘em up when I see ‘em,” he said, and continued to check every empty box in our path.

We passed a trashcan and I prayed, Please don’t dig through the trash! He looked like he might, but we heard the band playing, so he rushed us to our seats. Out of every twenty boxes, he found 1 with miles attached. That day, he collected 2 total.

We were there only a minute when I started having trouble breathing. I looked around and couldn’t identify the source of the cloud of smoke that was aggravating my allergies.

“Derek, I think someone is smoking pot,” I said.

He laughed. “It’s a concert, of course someone’s smoking weed!” he snorted, like that was the stupidest thing that I could’ve said. “Why, you want some?”

“Uh, no, I’m allergic. And I’m having a really hard time breathing. Can we move?”

He looked like I had punched him: shocked and hurt. “Move? But these are great seats! If you want to get away from the smoke, we’ll have to move to the lawn.”

I looked at him pleadingly. “I can’t breathe,” I repeated, and wondered if I should leave without him.

He hesitated, and I suspect that he was thinking the same thing. He sighed, then said, “Come on.” He led me high up on the lawn. “If I had known that we’d be sitting up here, I would’ve brought a blanket.”

Finally able to breathe, I ignored Derek’s grumbling and sat back on the grass to watch the show. We went to the grass to avoid the grass smoke! Hee hee! I giggled. I turned to share the joke with Derek, then saw his grim face and decided against it.

Motley Crue was rocking on the stage flanked by big screens that showed them up close. Looking at the nearest screen from here was a better view than down in our seats and there wasn’t anyone directly in front of us. So when the lights danced across the stage, I could see their shapes clearly: swastikas.

Shocked, I looked around at the other music lovers. None of them seemed to mind or notice. I looked back at the screen to see if I was mistaken and saw a close up on the lead guitarist. His armband was red, with a white circle, and in that circle was a black swastika, as clear as day.

More shocked than before, I again looked around. I had a nice view of the crowd and all their white face and/or arms. The only black face was one of the ushers walking down the aisle; he had a white coworker by his side, and neither was looking at the stage. I felt sick to my stomach, again. If I had known that MC were racists, I wouldn’t have come. Jules, what did you get yourself into?! I asked myself.

The concert finally ended, and we walked towards Derek’s car. Very casually, he asked, “So, what kind of birth control are you on?”

“Excuse me?!”

He repeated the question.

I was flabbergasted. It was our first date, we hadn’t even kissed, and there was zero possibility of sex that night. “None of your business!” I replied indignantly.

He mumbled, so that I could barely hear him, “Well, if we’re dating, I should know.”

Well, since this is the only date we’re ever gonna have, you don’t need to know, I thought, and ignored him.

I had cooled off by the time we got to the car. “I’m hungry,” I announced.

“Me, too. There’s another band playing tonight that I want to go see. It’s free with our MC ticket stubs. Starts at 7, in this little club, not too far from here. Wanna go?”

I thought about it. It was free, it’d be so loud that I wouldn’t have to talk to Derek, and it would get Motley Crue off my mind. “Sure, why not,” I acquiesced.

“We don’t have time for a nice sit down meal,” Derek said, obviously torn between food and the concert.

At that point, I knew that I wasn’t going out with Derek again, so I didn’t care too much. “Let’s have some fun,” I said. “Just get me a happy meal.”

“Really?” I could tell that Derek was thinking, “Cheap Date!”

“Really.” I smiled reassuringly.

Derek drove towards Mickey-D’s. “Uh, is it ok if we eat on the way? I don’t want to be late.”

I sighed. What could be more perfect than ketchup spilled in my lap? “That’s fine,” I said.

Derek was so grateful that at the next stoplight, he bought me a $1 rose from a homeless guy. As he handed it to me, he beamed like a child who had picked his mother a wildflower bouquet. It would have been completely charming if it hadn’t been bought from a dirty tramp and we weren’t on our way to McDonald’s. As it was, I wondered if I could catch a disease from the rose; or maybe it was really a weed; the way the rest of the date was going, I wouldn’t be too surprised!


I had only eaten half my happy meal when we pulled into the parking lot at the club.

“We can sit here while you finish, I guess,” Derek said, fidgeting like a 5-year-old.

I popped the last chicken nugget into my mouth and said, “Done!”

“Oh, you aren’t going to eat those fries?” asked my date, who hadn’t ordered anything at McDonald’s. He said that he wasn’t hungry, but I suspect that he was just broke.

I shook my head and he shoved most of them into his mouth in one big bite. I had to turn away.

At the door, the hostess asked for a ten-dollar cover charge.

“We have Crue tickets,” Derek said, and showed her. “I heard on the radio that we get in free.”

She nodded and held out her hand for the ticket. He was willing to let her look at it, but he wouldn’t surrender it. “Sir, you have to give me your ticket if you want in.”

“No! It’s a souvenir! Why can’t I keep it? Oh, Man, that’s so bogus!”

I narrowed my eyes and he looked like a five-year-old throwing a temper tantrum. I hope I don’t see anyone I know tonight, I thought.

Finally, Derek gave up his ticket and we got in. He immediately rushed the stage; not difficult to do, since less than a dozen people were standing in front of it. The band looked at him like, Where did this weirdo come from?, while Derek continued to whoop and cheer. “Zebra! All right! I love you guys!”

I hung back, embarrassed. Derek seemed to have forgotten that I was there, so I looked for a chair. I sat down next to a nice couple in their 40’s. In fact, most of the patrons were their age. This wasn’t surprising since Zebra was at their climax 20 years before.

The singer said, “Ok, we’re going to take a little break. We’ll be back in 10.” The band members went to find refreshments.

Derek jumped onto the stage, grabbed the drumsticks, raised them triumphantly and said, “WHOO!! I got Zebra’s drumsticks, WHOO WHOO!”

The drummer looked perplexed. I imagined that he was thinking, How am I supposed to play the second set without my sticks? Who does that guy think he is? He sent the band manager to retrieve his sticks.

Derek finally realized that he was missing something: me. He spotted me talking to the nice couple (and pretending that I didn’t know him) and came over. “Great band! Aren’t they? I love ‘em, they’re great.” Derek was sweating like he had been on stage.

“Ya, Derek, they’re great,” I said indulgently. I might’ve enjoyed the music if Derek had quit hollering.

He noticed the drink in front of me. “Got yourself something already, eh? Guess I’ll go get me a beer.” He walked toward the bar. A few minutes later, though, he called me over to the souvenir stand. “Jules! Hey, Jules! Which one of these shirts do you like better?”

I was surprised that he was getting me one. After all, I thought that he was broke. “That’s tough, they’re both cool. Hmmm; the one on the left, I think.”

“Cool, thanks!” he said, and bought himself an XL.

Stunned, I wandered back over to my drink. Could the man really be that thoughtless?

When the band was finally done, Derek drove me home. It was a 20-minute drive, so (unfortunately) we had time to talk. As usual, I babbled nervously, “Dad has a job down in Austin. He’s been living there for the past 6 months in an apartment; Mom’s moving down at the end of the month,” I told him. “I think I’m moving, too. Don’t tell anyone at work; I haven’t submitted my two-week notice yet.”

“Ok. Wow, Austin, huh? Whatcha gonna do down there?”

“I dunno, probably work for Albertson’s if there is one, maybe go to school. I could learn how to type and be a secretary, like my Mom,” I said. I turned the conversation to him. “How ‘bout you? You gonna work at the seafood counter the rest of your life?”

“Hell no. I’ve been talking about moving to the meat counter. There’s more variety and the manager gets paid well.”

I was stunned. I didn’t think that people really planned careers at grocery stores. I mean, now that I think about it, some must. For me and most of the front-end employees, it was just a job until we could go back to school or find a more lucrative position.

We pulled up to my house. Thank God I’m home! I thought. “Thanks for driving, Derek, good night!” I tried not to run inside, but I did get away as quickly as possible. As I shut the door from the inside, I sighed with relief, glad that was over!

Phone Call

Derek called the next week and told me what a great time he’d had. “I know that you’re moving to Austin,” he said. “I’ve got friends down there, and we visit 6th Street every once in a while. So let me know your phone number and I’ll call you when I’m gonna be in town, ok?”

“No,” I answered, wondering why I had taken his phone call at all.

“No?” he asked, in disbelief.

“No. I didn’t have a good time, ok? Don’t call me again. Bye.” Was he really oblivious to the fact that I had a lousy time?! Go pick up some Marlboro miles, Derek, and leave me alone! Why is it that I always think of the best things to say after I hang up the phone?!

Jules Rules

  1. Even though you may work with someone (in this case, for 4 months), you may not really know him. People are different outside of work.

The List

  1. Personable. (Not a jerk!)

Post Script

I hope you enjoyed this chapter out of my book, Jules Rules: The Best Worst Dates of My Life.  If so, order yourself a copy for Christmas!  Then order one for your BFF.  And another for your favorite aunt – it’s PG-13, after all.  




Happy one year to Jules Rules Blog!  Thank you to all my readers who have quietly supported me, those that return day after day, and ESPECIALLY those who comment on my posts.

I have written over 200 posts during the past 12 months.  Woot!  I don’t believe in writing every day; I believe in writing when I have something fun to share.  Speaking of, here are the Top 5 Blogs for the past year:

  1. Lilly and Lucas Tied the Knot
  2. Engagement Announcement (another Lilly and Lucas post)
  3. Supermodel Contest (This one is about *me*! Yay!)
  4. Lilly Loves Lucas (REALLY? ANOTHER ONE?)
  5. Lilly ❤ Lucas Airport Video (OMG she gets 4 out of 5?)

Love you Lilly!  And watch out—my Burlesque Experience posts are going to dethrone you ;-p

Big thanks to everyone who entered the contest to win an autographed copy of my book!  Feeling generous, it is my pleasure to announce the winners:

  1. Kristin B.! Kristin shared one of my posts on WordPress.  Thank you, Kristin!
  2. Gary Mathews! Thanks, Gary, for sharing my posts and mentioning me in numerous blogs.  Even if you did insult me once or twice.  No hard feelings, Sweet Cheeks!  #flashdance
  3. Lisa Carmen! Thanks, Lisa, for being a kickass coach and for sharing my posts.  Looking forward to more “homework assignments” (read: wild nights on the town) with you!!

We had three winners, because we had so many entries!  Congrats to you all!  The check is in the mail!

Uh, I mean the book ; – )

Yesterday was my birthday.  I’m officially worth a 21 year old PLUS a 20 year old now.  Looking forward to next year, when it’ll be legal for me to drink twice as much.

That is, I’m 41 now.  Old enough to know better, but still too young to care!

The big party is on Saturday: laser tag, air hockey, and skee ball, mixed with Bailey’s Irish whiskey.

Looking forward to the coming year, I’ve got lots of good stuff:

  1. Burlesque Bust Out! This is my on stage appearance on August 21st.  I’ve got one month to master burlesque, put together a costume, choreograph a routine, and learn it by heart.  Oh, and then I get to strip in front of 250 people.  No problem!
  2. Graduation for my master degree! This will be the end of a 5-year journey for me.  I started it thinking, “Fuck it, if my boss will pay for a degree, why not?  I’ll go to class and learn something.  Otherwise, what would I do—sit on the couch and watch TV?”

Ya, I’m really looking forward to sitting on the couch and watching TV.  People keep talking about OITNB; maybe I’ll discover what all the fuss is about.  Or how about GoT?  I hear there are some exotic dancers in that one!  Maybe a little sex, too?

  1. Finish Jules Rules – Volume II! The outline is complete, notes are written, and chapter one is done.  I just have to fill in the rest.  Quick, read volume one before I get two published!
  2. Find the love of my life. Nadia, are you choking?  Why are you laughing so hard?  Nadia?

Here’s to another fabulous year!  Cheers!

JNS_2015 BW

Hook Em!


The Alcalde published a blurb on my book on the Alumni Author page.  This is the magazine for The University of Texas at Austin’s former students, aka, Texas Exes.

I’m so excited!  I had almost given up hope that the magazine would publish anything about it.  After all, I mailed a copy of the book to them months ago (October 25, but who’s counting?).  They must be swamped with books to read.

Note there’s no mention of this blog.  Oh, well, maybe interested readers will find it through Amazon’s book blurb or my author page.

Oh, yes, I did attend UT and graduated in 2006.  Before you snicker about it being a party school, remember that I was on the Engineering side of campus.  Over there, we’re more likely to be solving heat transfer problems at midnight on Saturday than experimenting with beer bongs.

Although I did my share of dating while I was there.  I dated a guy who seemed very mature, until we got to know each other.  He had a penchant for quoting the Shining so well that I jumped out of my skin every time.  Try seeing your boyfriend channel Jack Nicholson before breakfast.  You won’t coffee anymore!  “Honey!  I’m HOME!”

That’s not why we broke up, however.  That final day, we took my kids to fly model airplanes.  He told them about his friend that liked to get drunk and visit the strip clubs.  In detail.  For some reason, I didn’t think that was appropriate conversation for my babies, who were 11 and 8 years old at the time.

At any rate, I love UT, and I love the Alcalde for publishing a blurb about my book.

Hook Em!


How Jason Measures Up


Jason and I are getting serious. So serious, that he met my son Jack last night. Jack approved of him! Yay!

Time to revisit the list of qualities that I want in a man, as listed in my book. How does Jason measure up?

  1. Good Communicator (one-on-one especially; similar but separate from no. 5). (ch. 1, 4, 11)  He’s a very good communicator. We talk, we text, and he teaches.  He creates multi-media art, too, so he communicates in more than one language.
  2. Intelligent (preferably college educated). (ch. 1, 9, 12) Check.
  3. Over 1 year since last major breakup (including, but not limited to, divorce) or >1 month since minor break up (relationships lasting <6 months). (ch. 2, 10, 11) Check, divorce was 1 year ago in August, so 1.5 years ago.
  4. Mentally healthy (read: no history of chronic depression, bipolar disorder, or any other mood/insane diagnosis). (ch. 2, 16)  Well, I didn’t ask him this question yet. Maybe I can bring it up at dinner.
  5. Personable (charming but not a charmer; fun to be around; makes me laugh). (ch. 3, 4, 5, 10) Check! His Match profile made me laugh and I giggle every time we talk/text!
  6. Good with kids, but doesn’t want biological (more) children. (ch. 5) Check.
  7. Athletic (or at the very least in good shape). (ch. 6, 9, 12) Doublecheck! Mmm, biceps…
  8. Nonsmoker, no drugs. (ch. 6, 15) Check.
  9. Willing to live in or within 30 minutes drive of my house. (ch. 6) Not so much; he lives 40 minutes away. However, it’s only 5 minutes from the university.
  10. Truthful. (ch. 8) So far, so good!
  11. Handsome (I’m beautiful, I deserve an attractive man). (ch. 9, 12) Check.
  12. Financial well off and frugal (with in reason; willing to spend money to go out to eat occasionally and puts money in savings regularly). (ch. 9, 12) Unknown.
  13. My age ±5 years. (ch. 9) He’s 7 months and 5 days younger than me. I’m a cradle robber! Hee hee hee.
  14. Calls me every night, or at least every other night. (ch. 9) We’ve texted every single day.
  15. A guy who considers every day with me a special occasion. (ch. 12) He brought Nothing But Bundt Cake to my house last night. Did you know they have gluten free chocolate chip cakes?! Sooooo good.
  16. Chemistry. (ch. 13, 15) Check. Triple check!!!
  17. Never been to jail. (ch. 15) Hmmm, another thing I need to confirm. I assume that his record is mostly clean, since he’s a teacher.  Is that a bad assumption?
  18. Employed. (ch. 16) Check!

That makes a total of 3 unknown, 1 no, and 14 yes. That’s 78%, which is a passing score. Whoo hoo! If he gets the 3 unknowns, his score may be as high as 94%!!

Movie night went well last night. So well, in fact, that he’s cooking me dinner tonight. I have a major crush on him and I’m looking forward to seeing him again. Shit, I have a goofy grin on my face. I have a feeling that it will get worse when I see him. Judging by the way he drug his feet when he left last night, I think that he likes my goofy face!