Grandpa: So are you settling in well in your new situation?
Me: Yes, we really like the new place.
Grandpa: Well, I never tell anyone how to live their lives. And now a days anything goes, but I don’t tell people what to do.
Me: Uh huh.
Grandpa: So are you going to make it legal?
Me: Do you mean get married? Yes, we plan to.
Grandpa: I lived with a lot of women before and I was never serious about them unless I married them.
Me: I . . .uh. . .what?
Grandpa: So you’re serious then?
Grandpa: Good, good. I’m glad you’re settling down. You know, back in my day, you would have been called a spinster or an old maid.
Me: Good thing it’s not the 17th century anymore.
Grandpa: So give my regards to your person.
Me: You mean my boyfriend?
Grandpa: Yes, him. Goodbye. (click)
I’ve received many a disgruntled email lately about my lack of blogging. Unfortunately for my readers, my boyfriend provides no blog fodder. He seems to operate within the parameters of normal human interaction. No urinating on me, no anime porn, no dressing up like Thurston Howell. I know, it’s disappointing for everyone except for me . . . and apparently grandpa.
Due to hearing loss, grandpa rarely calls me. When he does, he always provides some rare insights into the mind of a 92-year-old man. And the most delightful part of this conversation: boyfriend was standing next to me when he called.
Grandpa: You have something to tell me.
Me: Hi Grandpa. How are you?
Grandpa: You have something to tell me.
Grandpa: You have someone you are interested in.
Me: You mean my boyfriend? Yes, I find him interesting.
Grandpa: Does he make money?
Me: Yes, he is employed.
Grandpa: Has he proposed yet.
Me: Ah, no.
Grandpa: You should propose then. You’re not getting any younger.
It is once again my favorite time of year: Halloween. And again, I’ve been left with the dilemma of finding a costume. My requirements for a costume are simple, I don’t want to look like a ho. I know a lot of girls use Halloween as an excuse to wear lingerie in public. I am not one of those girls.
As you’ll recall, there was my quest for a non-sexy police officer costume, and the year I wanted to be Rainbow Brite. Both years I was given the option of “sassy cop with handcuffs,” or “sexy rainbow generic, non-copyright protected character.” Whore-riffic.
This year, my initial inclination was the be Emily from The Corpse Bride. While there were some normal costumes available for this character, I also came across “sexy corpse bride.” I wonder if the costume comes with those awesomely fake breasts.
While I have no problem with sexy costumes, maybe there should be more than a few crappy alternatives for those of us who chose to stay fully clothed.
After some deliberation, I have finally decided on a costume for this year: Rabid Alice in Wonderland. She caught the white rabbit, and you know what, he had rabies. Why else would she be hallucinating all that crap? Boyfriend has generously agreed to be my rabid rabbit. And yes, I have come across A LOT of sexy Alice costumes. That character is a little girl. That’s just gross.
Lesson learned: If you can’t find the costume you want, make your own, and then give it a rhabdovirus.
Oh, Valentine’s Day. Usually, I’m somewhat saddened by the lack of flowers being delivered to my desk. This year, I’ve decided to look on the bright side. Valentine’s Day is not a day to wallow in the pathetic wasteland that is my love life. It’s an opportunity to steal Valentine’s Day chocolates from my coworkers.
“What? There was a giant box of Godiva on your desk earlier? I have no idea where that went. This chocolate on my face is, uh, Hershey’s. . . from the vending machine.”
Do they really need all that fat and sugar when they get to go out to a calorie-laden meal later? No. I’m saving them from heart disease. They should thank me.
I’ve also found Valentine’s Day to be useful in discounting the calories from my stolen goods because, frankly, if I’m not getting any affection later on, I at least deserve a damn piece of chocolate.
And later, after I have consumed a bottle of very special Barefoot Pinot Grigio by myself, I will take the time to call or text all of my friends to tell them how very special they are to me and how much I really love them . . . and to reiterate that I’m not just saying that because I’m drunk.
Lesson learned: Regardless of the greeting card industrial complex that orchestrated this holiday, it’s always good to celebrate love. Especially your love for wine.
In honor of one of my favorite holidays, I created a handy flow chart to help you decipher if your date among the living dead, or just the brain dead. If you’re a single guy, you could easily use this guide to find out if the girl you just went out with smelled that way because she’s shunning deodorant or is slowly decomposing.
So read ahead and find out: Are you dating a zombie?
(And yes, I made those blood stains myself! I’m practicing my Photoshop skills.)
To me: “I know the perfect guy for you!’
“He’s really cute, tall, kinda shy. He’s a scientist!”
I do love nerds.
“He’s a good guy. Oh, wait. . . “
“No, he has herpes.”
I’ll pass, but thanks.
Me: Hi Grandpa! Thank you for the birthday card.
Grandpa: You’re an old lady now.
Me: (uncomfortable chuckle) Yes. Well, I just wanted to call to say hi.
Grandpa: Mortality catches up with everyone.
Me: That’s true.
Grandpa: Are you dating anyone?
Me: No grandpa, I’m still single.
Grandpa: Well, it’s only going to get harder because you’re old now.
I thought it was time to do another chart. And of course this is really only my opinion on facial hair. Lot’s of girls are fond of the “soul patch,” (although I’ve heard a lot more colorful names for it.)
I’ve noticed that a lot of conversations I’m having these days are starting to have a common theme. . .
Married Female Friend (MFF)
Me: I’m moving to a new office to work with the other writers. I think it’ll be a good career opportunity.
MFF: Will there be hot guys there?
Me: No, they’re married.
MFF: You never know.
Me: I do know.
MFF: Maybe one of them will set you up with a single guy.
Me: Have you been talking to my mother?
Married Female Friend 2 (MFF2)
Me: I have a headache.
MFF2: What happened to that hippie you were seeing?
Me: I don’t know.
MFF2: What about that younger guy you liked?
Me: I don’t know. I think I should really date older men.
MFF2: My financial planner was cute. He looked like a graying John Corbett. Oh, but he was married.
Me: That doesn’t help me.
Married Male Friend (MMF)
MMF: How was that event you went to last week?
MMF: So did you meet anyone?
Me: I met some 80-year-olds with heart disease.
MMF: So, no?
Like any normal person, I loathe going to the dentist. They usually want to “fix” a slightly crooked front tooth that I happen to like. It gives me character. I’m of the opinion that not everyone needs a mouth full of chicklets.
This was a new dentist referred to me by a coworker. I sat through the rather painful cleaning and X-ray portion when, ding dong, in walks Handsome Man, DDS. He set my chair back and immediately began to talk to me about football and the tragedy that is the Chargers. My heart beat faster as he looked in my mouth and told me I had a pretty smile.
Was it strange that I was oddly excited that he found a cavity? It’s a chance for me to see him again!
He exited the room without a goodbye, but I’m sure I left a lasting impression. I mean, he complimented me, he gave me a toothbrush, we had a nice chat, and he tried to stick something in my mouth. It was practically a first date.