The Wacky 6-year-old and His Flying Machine

While sitting in the airport yesterday, my fellow passengers and I were mesmerized by the 6-year-old boy (we'll call him "Falcon", which also happens to be his real name) flying around in his parents' helium balloon. How terrifying for the parents and the child... awful story.

Then once I landed in Birmingham, I found out from my momma that the balloon landed in a field and there was NO ONE IN IT. The obvious conclusion here, since the boy's brother insists Falcon was in the balloon when it took off, was that little sweet Falcon had fallen out somewhere and was either stranded in the Colorado Mountains or dead somewhere. Awful story.

Then a little later in the evening, I found out from Scott that Falcon was actually in the attic the entire time! Safe and sound.

What.

My mom would have beat my ass if my brother or I would have pulled something like this. We knew better than to get in the drivers seat of the car and act like we were going somewhere, let alone get in the helium balloon that was in our yard. (And yes, we had one too... didn't everyone?)

I can't believe these parents have raised these kids like this. So I did a little investigative work today. Here's a teaser to what I found: they were on Wife Swap, are storm chasers by trade and are UFO enthusiasts (and are clearly attention whores)
The best thing I found: Here are the brothers Heene in their very own rap video, hanging out on train tracks, playing with rattle snakes and murdering their teddy bear. They are like squeaky-voiced Beastie Boys who are clearly in need of therapy or maybe just some good old fashioned military school.

I, for one, am very excited for these boys to grow up and become members of our society.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z8Ns87YkdRI&feature=player_embedded

The Doctor is OUT OF HIS MIND

So I'm pretty sure I have Adult ADD. I have a hard time focusing and that's not just when I have had too much sweet tea vodka the night before.

Therefore, my proactive self decided to head to the doctor for an Adult ADD test. I looked up my insurance providers and made 2 appointments: one for a regular psychologist and one for a board-certified psychologist. The regular one was scheduled for November and the board-certified (which I'm assuming is better? I really don't know) was scheduled for April (she must be good.... or just only works 5 hours a week). I was then complaining to one of my coworkers about how long I have to wait for my focus pills and she suggested that I go to my regular doctor, who can do an Adult ADD test in the office. I called my regular doctor and they said that they can, in fact do an Adult ADD test and they were able to fit me in for today! (This was last week).

So I show up with my happy self at 12:30 today at my doctors office (name withheld) and tell the sign-in chick that I'm there for an Adult ADD test. To which she replied, "Great!" I then wait excitedly for my test to finally discern if my suspicions are true.

They weigh me. I still contend the scale was off. I suggested maybe a re-calibration. The nurse wasn't buying it. Then they took my blood pressure (S.O.P. for an Adult ADD test? Hmm.), which was normal. No re-calibration necessary.

THEN I waited, and waited and waited.... and WAITED for an hour for the doctor to come in and see me. I could hear his happy butt laughing and talking in the next room with some patient; they sounded like BFF's sharing a beer. I read my entire Gwen Stefani-covered Glamour magazine. The whole thing, including the section written by the dude that I don't even customarily like to read. I was that bored.

Dr. [name withheld] walks in, laughing his happy butt off and joking with me. I'm so relieved he is finally here! In front of me! It's not a mirage! Then he asks where "the child" is, to which I replied "Ummm... I'm here for an Adult ADD test, please" (notice how polite I am at this point).

He then blindsided me with "Oh!! Ha Ha Ha!! We don't do that here! Only for the little kids!! Ha Ha Ha!!"

What.

After making sure that he wasn't, in fact, kidding, I went through the roof. Seriously?! How could I have told three ladies up to this point that I was there for an Adult ADD test and nobody has mentioned to me that they don't "do that" for adults? And where were they thinking I was hiding this child the entire time?? In my purse?? (It is big, but come on...)

Then comes the silver lining. "I can see you're upset. Tell you what, I won't charge you for this visit."

To which I replied, at a volume I'm not proud of, "Well then give me the number to the American Medical Association so I can call them and tell them how damn generous Dr.[name withheld] is!!"

He just looked at me.

I stormed out and got to the car when I realized that this was all for naught. And I'm not going to have that; not after all the time I spent there. I marched my little butt back in there and caught him before he went into another patient's room and said "Wait a second!!! Don't you have anything you can give me??!! A referral maybe?! Something?!"

He looked terrified at this crazy woman storming at him and quickly wrote down three names and numbers and hurried into the patient's room at lightening speed. I wasn't sure if they were real phone numbers until I called the first one and it was a direct line to a doctor. NOW we're talking!

Then I realized that he probably sent me to some anger management specialist after my "scene", so I asked what kind of doctor he was, and he replied that he is a "Neuropsychologist". Really?!

This was going to be more difficult than I thought. I told him my plight, and he assured me that he does Adult ADD testing all the time. And how did I get his number again? And why didn't I call his front desk people to schedule an appointment. I tried to sound important, but finally just admitted that Dr. [name withheld] gave it to me. He seemed satisfied with that, and scheduled me for December 14.

To be continued on the 14th.... I guess I better not make a scene in this guy's office. I'm sure he has straight jackets on hand.

The "Skinny" on Ralph Lauren

Now, I'm a fan of Ralph Lauren's clothes. Love. Them.

However, take a gander at his latest ad campaign:

http://shine.yahoo.com/event/fallbeauty/image-of-ultra-thin-ralph-lauren-model-sparks-outrage-521480/

What do you think her secret is? P90X maybe?

Now, I'm no model, but this girl is delusional if she thinks she is hot. Problem is, she was probably paid a million bucks for this ad.

The Ferris Wheel Nearly Killed Me

The Texas State Fair was awesome.

If you recall, there was a list posted yesterday of Fair Must-Do's. A refresher:

1. Fraternizing with carnies.

2. Eating fried butter

3. Eating fried oreos

4. Staying the hell away from Big Tex and his scary voice and scary huge clothes and boots, not to mention his creepy eyeballs

5. Watching En Vogue perform "FREE YOUR MIIIIND!". Yes, live.

6. NOT getting on any rides.
_________________________________________________________

Fair Activities 2009:

1. Fraternized with carnies. (Check) We had an interesting interaction with Connie, who thought we were on our honeymoon. We did not burst her bubble and tell her that we have known each other for exactly 6 weeks. She was clearly flattering us in a feeble attempt to sell us some jewelry. (which was, for the record, amazingly priced. Did we take advantage of it? N.O.)

2. Eating fried butter. (Check) The fried butter was, in a word, fantastic. Although, it was not the gooey, drippy concoction we expected. We chose the garlic butter, which was a better choice than cherry (ew.), and basically, it was a donut-hole with a slightly warm center and a buttery taste. For all we know, they may have taken a donut hole and sprayed Fabio's "I Can't Believe It's Not Butter" on the top and sold it to us for 8 tickets.

3. Eating fried oreos. (Fail) Did not see these suckers. And I'm still mad about it.

4. Staying the hell away from Big Tex and his scary voice and scary huge clothes and boots, not to mention his creepy eyeballs (Fail) We found ourselves right in front of this grossly-ill-proportioned dude not once, but twice. What is his DEAL?! I for one, did not like the way he was looking at me. I think everyone else kinda dug him and his T-Rex arms.

5. Watching En Vogue perform "FREE YOUR MIIIIND!". Yes, live. (Check) We stumbled upon these lovely ladies while looking for the fried butter. They didn't look a day over 47. We heard several early-90's hits and even witnessed a huge man next to us bumping and grinding on his lady. Did I mention he was huge? Oh, and he was about 65.

6. NOT getting on any rides. (Fail)

(a) Texas Star Ferris Wheel. We had a lengthy discussion about this, and decided that it was in his (not my) best interest that we get on this ride. I begrudgingly said yes once they assured me that Italians make great Ferris Wheels (now that I have access to Google, was this ride made by Italians? Actually, yes it was. Chock one up to my friends). Waiting in line was a circus in and of itself. I started hyperventilating once I saw how high this thing is, and no one was sure if I was kidding or not. Totally NOT. So we then got behind a kind gentleman in line who is covered with prison tattoos on his neck and behind his earlobe and who raised a hand to his wife as if he was going to slap her (not once, but several times) and laughed it off once he remembered he was in public. Classy. We were concerned about having to get in a gondola with this monkey, but as fate would have it, we were able to sideswipe that situation and get in a gondola with an adorable 8 year old and his dad and sister. Once the Ferris wheel started going, I thought I was going to die. Turns out, as long as I could look out and not down, I was doing okay. my friend's leg, however, looks like it has encountered a mountain lion. (Neat fact: they put two cages in the gondola in front of us and we asked what the deal was - turns out they released a hawk and an eagle from the top so that they can fly down to the bird show. cool huh?)

(b) "Stripper Swings". After walking around for a while longer (and thanking God that I lived through the Ferris Wheel), we saw several life-threatening rides that were dripping with vomit and had on-call emergency personnel and Careflight helicopters circling (we'll pass, thanks). We settled on the swings that take you through the air. Basically a carousel with swings instead of creepy horses and hippos. The song playing when we got on it was none other than T-Pain's "I'm in Love with a Stripper". SO wholesome for the kids. We got off the ride just as "Let's Get It On" started up. You stay classy, State Fair of Texas.

We were smart and decided to take the train to the fair. $7.50 per person and no driving/parking, etc? Heck of a deal, right? (wrong.)

The trip up to the Fair was awesome. Uneventful. Quick. Easy. The trip home was .... hellish? Can I say that? We arrived at the Victory Park Station just after 6:45, which, we found out, was within minutes of the TRE leaving for Fort Worth. No bother, we'll catch one in a few minutes. Wellllllllll............ turns out the next train was leaving at 8:50. 8:50?! So. It's pouring down rain and we're standing under a tiny awning and this is what the next 2 hours are going to look like. Um... not cool TRE. NOT cool.

Luckily we are friendly people and don't look like psychopaths, so this nice family near us started chatting us up and we all decided to go to the West End to find some food (we did have 2 hours to kill after all). We ventured to the VERY dead West End and ate at a bbq place (with very slow service, considering we were basically the only folks in there). We then got the good news that we had missed the DART back to Victory Station. I quickly dialed up Yellow Cab (which is on speed dial on my phone - and no, I don't often find myself drunk and stranded and in need of a cab - so much so that I have the number programmed into my phone, thank you very much). The cab driver shows up and then does not know where Victory Station is, even after we tell him that it is a mere 4 blocks away and next to the ENORMOUS American Airlines Center. Still no idea. We end up getting out in the middle of the road. My friend gives the guy some cash and takes off running in the direction of the train in an effort to stop it. The guy then yells out to my friend that he didn't pay him enough. What?! 4 blocks and we gave you directions and you still dropped us off a good 500 feet from our destination and you want us to pay you MORE?! Needless to say, we settled up and took off running ourselves. I was carrying a baby (not my baby, really a baby I just met) and New Friend Kim is carrying more than her own body weight in strollers and to-go food boxes while New Friend Patrick is carrying a very tired 3 year old. We got there and managed to get on the Fort Worth bound TRE in time. Sheesh.

Did I mention that this entire time, it is pouring down rain. Oh yeah, this entire time it was pouring down rain.

The train ride was pretty uneventful, except for the fact that we stood the entire time, saw a Ruben Studdard look-a-like (who barely fit down the stairs) and New Friend Patrick set his to-go food box on the trash can next to him, which happened to be on a dirty diaper. And this was just for a minute, but I'm pretty sure he went home and ate it.

TRE: TOTALLY RUINED EVENING (meaning the rest of our evening was blown - no Arts Goggle for us.... damn.)

Can't wait to go next year!!

Big Tex

Hopping on a train and heading to the State Fair of Texas. On the agenda today:

1. Fraternizing with carnies.

2. Eating fried butter

3. Eating fried oreos

4. Staying the hell away from Big Tex and his scary voice and scary huge clothes and boots, not to mention his creepy eyeballs

5. Watching En Vogue perform "FREE YOUR MIIIIND!". Yes, live.

6. NOT getting on any rides.

More later. Till next time!

XOXO

You're my Girl, Annie Oakley

Last month I visited the Cowgirl Museum for the first time. How inspiring these trailblazers are – strong, passionate and driven. Everything I like to think I am, but really everything I hope to become. My favorite part is one that my mom pointed out to me. It is a quote by Annie Oakley that so eloquently read “Aim at the highest mark and you will hit it.”

It’s just that easy, huh.

I am an eternal optimist, so I like to think that I have always aimed for the highest mark. However, in hindsight I see that I was missing it, therefore I must not have aimed very high (this is assuming that Annie Oakley was correct).

Dating, for instance: A guy I dated in college seemed like a prize boyfriend with a real future. However, after a couple years when the shiny new of the relationship had worn off, I realized all too quickly that what I considered “aiming high” was in fact “aiming for a terribly unhappy future with a jackass.”

So I vowed to aim higher, and since then (with a select few exceptions) lo and behold, I have hit my mark. I have succeeded on hitting the top of the “man totem pole.” Each guy since the aforementioned jackass has been a substantially better guy than the one before. Clearly, I am not there yet or I wouldn’t still have this “single girl’s survival blog” being updated for your reading pleasure. But I think I’ve finally figured out the natural progression of things. We make mistakes, we learn, we move on. Rinse, repeat.

Aiming for a higher guy. Okay, that is the plan from now on.

The same goes for our futures. I see so many girls aiming low. I finally feel like I’m on the right track and aiming high. I have been out of college for 5 years and have made several different, exciting careers for myself. But now, I have a PLAN. Frankly, I can’t wait. I would aim higher, if I could. But I think for now, I am aiming for the top.

Mad Libs

My friend Laura always has the best ideas for fun things to do. She and I have been doing Mad Libs over the email. She bought a book, so she'll send me the blanks to fill in with noun, adjective, whatever. So I come up with all these random words, and then she fills them in and sends the story to me. Here's the latest. The very last sentence is hilarious!


Loving the single life? The perks are plenty! You are your own Shih Tzu. There's no need to check in with anyone when you and your kitties want to holla' after work. If you want to drop in for gorgeous hour at the local creepy bar and throw back a few glasses of vodka, you can. And if you spot a gooey guy, you can flirt quickly with nary a care. Or, if you feel like staying in, you can plop your boobies on the couch and watch movies like When Harry Met Karyn or SuperFun Woman for 24 hours straight. But perhaps the best part of being single is that you don't need to come up with an excuse every time you don't want to hopscotch-- like, "I'm too bountiful" or "My pinky toe hurts". When you're single, you live your lovely life on your terms-- and its absolutely horrific!

Smile! You're on Candid Camera!

You are on Candid Camera!

As a single girl, one of the worst things you can ever hear is a half-trusted friend saying something to the tune of “I have someone you have GOT to meet! He would be perfect for you!!” And when you ask “Oh yeah? What’s he like?” The answer is almost always “He’s… umm… a really nice guy.”

Mmm hmmm. I’m sure he is.

The blind date is a precarious situation. It can be awkward, it can be boring, it can be stunning. It’s a roll of the dice. It’s also somewhat stressful.

Do you allow them to come to your house? And risk the possibility of them becoming some wild-eyed stalker, looking in your windows at night and cutting down your flowers just to give them to you? That last one actually happened to me.

Or do you meet them out somewhere, and throw all gentlemanly, chivalrous behavior out the window?

Oh the decisions!

I’ve been on several blind dates. Half of them have been mediocre and exactly one of them has been downright horrific, forcing me to ask myself if I could possibly be on candid camera.

My first (and worst) brush with blind dating was when I was 17. My hairdresser decided she wanted to set me up with her “19-year-old” nephew. I gave in after months of prodding (and a threat to fry my hair or turn it awful shades of “old lady”). Within days, a guy in his mid-20’s showed up at my house on a school night, with each eye going opposite directions and black curly hair full of SoulGlo straight out of the movie Coming to America. I found myself looking for plastic to put on the back of the couch before he sat down. On the way to Cinema6, he loudly sang along to the trumpet part on a Miles Davis CD (perfectly fine alone, completely awkward when you have a passenger), his choice of movie was The Green Mile, which he had just seen the day before at the theater.

15 minutes into this terribly sad movie, he started crying, when nothing sad was even going on! It began with a single tear down his cheek and ultimately he was wailing. Loudly. For the rest of the movie. He kept putting his arm around me and I was squirming out of it. Then he was going in for the hand-hold and I was able to get out of it each time until he caught me off guard once and grabbed it firmly. He then proceeded to use the back of my hand as a tissue. Gross! I excused myself to go to the bathroom to sanitize my entire body. I then had to return to my seat for the next THREE HOURS with the crying jeri-curled funky-eyed guy. When we finally left that horrible experience of a movie, I felt so sorry for him that I agreed to go to a local restaurant with him.

I was exhausted and he was puffy eyed and embarrassed, so we looked like quite the pair walking into Montana Restaurant. The waitress handed me a Shirley Temple and he handed me a Sony Discman. Remember back in the day when this contraption fit an entire cd? These things weren’t small and where did he possibly have it stowed away on his person? I know he wasn’t carrying it when we came into the restaurant because he kept trying to hold my hand.

And all this time, I thought the date couldn’t get worse. Now I’m supposed to listen to a cd. Not just any cd – one that contains a song that he wrote for me. Considering this is a blind date, I ask how he came about writing a song for me. He said it was based on the emails we sent back and forth. To which I replied, “Oh, the one email where I told you how to get to my house?!”

I’m in the Twilight Zone.

I high-tailed it out of there as quickly as possible and never saw him again. Bless his heart. I sure hope his moves have gotten better, or he has no hope.

The inspiration behind today’s writing is the fact that, I have hope that out there somewhere is a good blind date. I know, it sounds like an oxymoron. But it’s gotta be true.

Till next time!
XOXO

What Dana Wants - A to Z

I typed this list while watching The Bridges of Madison County. I have to be selective and not settle. Because I don't want to end up like Francesca, 80 years old, nursing my dying husband who was just "so-so" for our 50 years of marriage, while my soulmate is off somewhere in the world without me. No thanks.

So, in the spirit of "not settling", here is my A-Z list of qualities a guy must possess to be the future Mr. Dana's Husband.

Anchor – I am a strong woman, but I want (not “I need”) an anchor, just like with ships. I can be eccentric and sometimes I need somebody to bring me back down to Earth. I know I can be the anchor if need be, but isn’t that one of the job descriptions for guys?

Blithe – He needs to be joyous and carefree. Not one of those ultra-serious types who makes me wonder during dinner, “Is he still thinking about work? Or is he thinking he must have been crazy to agree to be my boyfriend? Or do I smell bad? Which one??”

Cavalier – I’m a southern girl. I need a gentleman.

Debonair – A self-assured man is so very incredible. I have dated my fair share of “Sloppy McSloppersons”, therefore I can appreciate a sharp-dressed man.

Exhilarating – I want to be swept off my feet. Over and over again.

Fit – If our bodies are temples, do I really want someone who throws trash into the temple? No thanks.

Green – I hope to have a guy to help me remember to bring my re-usable bags to the grocery store.

Horticultural – True to my old-lady form, I love my garden and I love my plants. I don’t want someone who is jealous of the time I’m spending with my plant friends. How about someone who puts some gloves on and helps?

Impromptu – I would just adore someone who doesn’t live a strictly planned life, and who can wisk me off somewhere with no notice. Even if it is just to the park.

Jocular – Someone who loves to laugh is someone who has my vote. There is no other way to be.

Knowledgeable – He needs to be able to throw trivia at me that is harder than “Guess what the Statue of Liberty is made out of...” And I’d be okay with him beating me at Jeopardy every once in a while. Well... maybe.

Leery – I know this sounds strange, but I need someone who is just as leery as I am. I don’t trust many folks. The last thing I need is our life savings wasted on some shady guy who promises my guy a great return on something like Chrysler stock.

Mature – There is a time and place for everything, but if I have to fight the Xbox for his attention, we have a problem.

Neat – I am a neat freak in most instances, and we’re going to rumble if I have to move his boxer briefs off the couch for a guest to sit down.

Observant – How nice it would be if he could immediately identify a shift in my mood, instead of me being upset and him asking “What’s wrong?” only after days of my brooding and withholding important things from him. (Sidenote: as open as I am, this is unlikely to happen for 3 days… but you get the gist.)

Passionate. ‘Nuff said.

Quiet – I love to talk (probably too much), but I would love to be able to have someone who embodies the song “Easy Silence”, someone who can be silent with me and there is no need to fill every void with talking.

Ready – I’ve never been one who is looking to get hitched immediately. No way. But when I have the guy and I’m ready, the last thing I need to hear is “I think I’ll be ready in about 5 more years.” Ugh.

Serene – Someone without a temper has my vote. My feathers don’t get ruffled and I don’t want someone I have to hold back from punching something or someone.

Thrifty – I am a thrift queen and have been my entire life. I don’t see that changing, so I am going to need someone who doesn’t run up credit card bills on frivolous things like a ton of Xbox games (see Mature).

Understanding – Sometimes I have moments where I feel like the poster child for kookiness. Hence the need for understanding.

Veracious – Webster says this means “speaking the truth.” No question – this is of utmost importance.

Well-rounded – A true renaissance man is the best.

Xenophobic – I would love to have someone who hates foreigners. Just Kidding. That would tick me off in a hurry. (X-words were slim pickin's.)

Yogic – If he can downward dog with me, then I will be thanking my lucky stars.

Zestful – Everyone loves a little spice.

The 5 S's

After reading a book on the subject, I firmly believe in the 5 requirements a man must meet for me to consider dating him. Ladies and Gentlemen: the 5 S’s.

Single, Sexy, Successful, Saved, Sane

These are all good, and I have adopted them as my mantra. Here are my thoughts on the subject.

Single is always a plus. Who needs the stress of dating a married man, always looking over your shoulder, wondering when you are going to have to dodge a bullet from the wife who (with very good reason) will try to find a covert way to commit attempted (or not) murder. Besides, it’s so wrong. Boo to all the ladies out there who are doing this very thing. Quit it now, girlfriends.

Sexy… well yes. Not to sound like looks are so important (because they are not), I have to have no hesitation to want to … what’s the word for making out in the Harry Potter books? Ahh yes, I have to have every desire to snog, anytime/anyplace (thanks Laura). Which means that attraction is key. I can’t date someone I can never imagine kissing. Who can?

Successful is so important. I am driven and I am going to make something of myself, and I look forward to the day where I have an equal in that department. I am very competitive, so how cool would that be to have a partner that is in constant competition with me to do bigger, greater things in this world? Unstoppable.

Saved is crucial. I am a Christian and I need someone who shares my beliefs. I want there to be no question where we are going to be on Sunday mornings. And someone who doesn’t let me get lazy and stay home when I’m tired.

I can’t even tell you how many crazies I have come across in my dating adventures, so Sane is an unquestionable must. No further explanation necessary

The way I look at it, why stop at S?

Tune in tomorrow for Dana’s 26 Musts to Look For in a Guy (A to Z).

Man in the Mirror

I am always looking for ways to improve myself, from the inside out. Michael Jackson's Man in the Mirror epitomizes what we should all be doing. Starting now. For someone who really lived a tragic life at times, he had a big heart for other folks, and his humanitarian efforts are to be applauded. If I take any note out of MJ's book, it is this: If you want to make a change in the world, start with yourself. None of us are perfect and we can all improve drastically inside our hearts. This is what God urges us to on a daily basis, and this is one message that Michael Jackson left with us that leaves a mark.

Man in the Mirror

I'm gonna make a change, for once in my life
It's gonna feel real good, gonna make a difference
Gonna make it right.

As I, turn up the collar on my favorite winter coat
This wind is blowin' my mind
I see the kids in the street, with not enough to eat
Who am I, to be blind? Pretending not to see their needs
A summer's disregard, a broken bottle top
And a one man's soul
They follow each other on the wind ya' know
'Cause they got nowhere to go
That's why I want you to know

I'm starting with the man in the mirror
I'm asking him to change his ways
And no message could have been any clearer
If you wanna make the world a better place
Take a look at yourself, and then make a change

I've been a victim of a selfish kind of love
It's time that I realize
That there are some with no home, not a nickel to loan
Could it be really me, pretending that they're not alone?

A willow deeply scarred, somebody's broken heart
And a washed-out dream
They follow the pattern of the wind, ya' see
Cause they got no place to be
That's why I'm starting with me

I'm starting with the man in the mirror
I'm asking him to change his ways
And no message could have been any clearer
If you wanna make the world a better place
Take a look at yourself and then make a change

I'm gonna make a change
It's gonna feel real good!
Come on!
Just lift yourself
You know
You've got to stop it. Yourself!
(Yeah!-Make that change!)
I've got to make that change, today!
You got to not let yourself...
Brother...
You know-I've got to get that man, that man...
(Man in the mirror)
You've got to
You've got to move! Come on! Come on!
You got to...
Stand up! Stand up! Stand up!
Stand up and lift yourself, now!
Gonna make that change... come on!
You know it!
You know...
Make that change

Complacency at its Best

com-pla-cen-cy

noun:

1. A feeling of contentment or self-satisfaction, especially when coupled with an unawareness of danger, trouble, or controversy.

2. An instance of contented self-satisfaction

(thanks YahooEducation)

So I guess I have a desire to be complacent at the moment. I go through many stages of want and need and then I get lucky and it hits: complacency with what I have been given.

Outwardly, I have been doing way too much of all the things that I am normally not into:

tanning

working out to the wax

using hair mask

keeping my toenails painted

just a few examples. Although I am a girly-girl at heart, I have been known in the past to boycott face serum because of two reasons: (1) living in the sunny south, fighting wrinkles is useless and (2) the word "serum" kind of weirds me out. I didn't even know what "hair mask" was until I decided I was going to go on this latest beauty kick. I have always prided myself on being the low-maintenance girl who can throw something on and head out the door in 5 minutes flat. I can still do this (and do it often), but it's the "behind the scenes" stuff that is starting to get tedious. And starting to get old.

I have a few theories about this sudden change of beauty attitude. The most prominent theory - I'm single.

In other words, I am always wandering what I'll look like when Mr. Wonderful runs into me. You know how it happens in romantic comedies. I don't want to be the girl who runs into Mr. Wonderful and is all disheveled with crooked glasses and my hair up in a scrunchie (for the record: I haven't owned a scrunchie since 1999, but with my luck a neon green one would mysteriously find its way into my hair immediately before meeting said Mr. Wonderful). And we would inevitably run into each other physically - I'll be carrying some heavy load and we will fall in love instantly while bent down picking up my books or groceries or whatever I'm carrying. So now I have to make sure I smell divine at all times as well... You see where I'm going with this.

Okay, maybe I have an active imagination, but the bottom line is no matter where I am and no matter who I am seeing that day, it is becoming increasingly important to me to look my absolute best. You truly never know who you are going to run into - Maybe the great guy I went on a date with last week. He'll think "Oh there's that great girl who made such a good first impression... wait, is that a scrunchie? Is her skin normally that ashy? But she looked so GOOD on our date!" Yikes.

Granted, he might not think that, and people most likely don't notice this stuff, but I would know that it was happening and frankly, I would rather feel 100% amazing and fabulous, ready for all encounters that may come my way.

However... it is exhausting. So while I was exfoliating my entire body (for the 3rd time this week), I had a thought. If I worked this hard on my inner self, would that overtake any glamorous look I have going on that day? I think it would make a bigger difference to the people that I know and am meeting if I exuded more inner confidence. I think the tan and the soft skin would be deeply overshadowed by a genuine smile, because I know I am in an amazing place as a person and as a Christian, not a smile that says "My hair is the perfect texture this morning, so I feel better about myself." No, I'll take the genuine smile instead.

Something is wrong with the picture when I spend more time beautifying myself than I do in beautifying my soul with prayer. So here's the deal. Today I choose to be complacent with my appearance and I vow to spend more time working on myself and cultivating myself as a person than I spend in a beauty routine. And no, I am not giving up on beauty. I do have limits - I am not going to turn into Zoolander's "Derelict", but if my toenails aren't painted, I am not wasting another second thinking how atrocious it must look.

Who knows? Maybe the disheveled look is in. There is, after all, an entire line of products called "Bed Head." I have that every morning, with no effort!

Honesty on Facebook

So I got to looking at my Facebook profile and I realized that the "About Me" info was really just a bunch of fluff. I think we are all guilty of this. I wonder what it would be like if everyone were completely honest on their profiles. I decided to do just that... check it out.

Sex: Female

Birthday: September 24, and I'll never tell you the year

Hometown: Jacksonville, AL

Relationship Status: Single...still

Politicial Views: I actually have no earthly idea

Religious Views: Christian - Episcopalian

Personal Information

Activities:

What I really wrote: Working out, Yoga, playing with my pets, trying to make my house and yard look good, and relaxing. Spending time with my family and friends.

The honest truth: Google Stalking people, from potential friends to potential boyfriends, to really wealthy people (just to see how the other half lives), obsessing over celebrities' lives, dancing around my house like a crazy person (alone) (clothing optional), playing with my pets, trying to make my house and yard look good, spending time with my family and friends.

Interests:

What I really wrote: Playing bass, gardening, having a great time all of the time! I'm also a damn good cook! I am fully aware that in college all I could make in the kitchen was a mess and several small fires. I have turned a new leaf I will have you know.

The honest truth: Gardening, I hate jazz but I love playing it, I hate working out but I do it anyway, I love yoga but I can't afford the classes, I love to cook but I'm tired of cooking for "one". It would be nice to cook for someone every night.

Favorite Music: (This one is good and honest)

Anything acoustic - Jack Johnson, Jason Mraz, Janis Joplin, James Taylor, Cat Stevens

Favorite TV Shows: (This one is good and honest)

I own all six seasons of Sex and the City. Also love Grey's Anatomy, Chelsea Lately and SNL. Don't tell anybody but my real favorite is Jeopardy. I am such a nerd.

Favorite Movies: (This one is good and honest)

Great Expectations, anything with Will Ferrell

Favorite Books:

What I really wrote: Alice Hoffman books, Nicholas Sparks and Dean Koontz, all the Classics, People magazine (addicted)

The honest truth: Trashy novels full of debauchery, Alice Hoffman books and People magazine. Lately I am learning to enjoy reading the bible.

About Me:

What I really wrote: I am one goofy person. But dang it I have fun. I have a beautiful shih tzu named Bama. She is perfect in every way, except when she eats poo. I have a cat who works for me, his job is to kill mice. I pay him with food and shelter. I have a wonderful family and lots of beautiful friends. And by beautiful I mean hot. None of them are nice, but at least we look good.

The honest truth: I grew up in Alabama and I love that I am from there. I secretly wish I still lived there, and honestly nothing is stopping me from moving back. But I always end up deciding to stay here, so there must be something for me here in Fort Worth, Texas. I live my life to the fullest. I love the Lord with all my heart, but for some reason I can't talk about Him to just anybody. I have an awesome life - great church, friends, family, pets. I work for the best attorney in Fort Worth, hands down. I love my job and I try every day to do the best work possible in order to not be fired. I was fired last year and it brought me down a few rungs on the "ego ladder". I bought my house when I was 23 and sometimes it is way more than I can handle. So I have moments of panic. They always pass though. I am mediocre at best when it comes to finances, but I am getting better at it. I work seven days a week and I have a sneaking suspicion I work so much because it beats sitting in my empty house. I have so much to offer and I don't understand where the good men are hiding. Luckily I am not desperate... yet. Check back in 4 years when I am turning 30. :-)

Bwoston

Bwoston (as I will forever pronounce it.... just read it out loud. See? That's how they talk) was GREAT! Here is a recap, with pictures. :-)

I left at 4:00 am for the airport, flight went off without a hitch, except for the middle-aged weirdo that I was lucky enough to sit next to on the plane. He got up to let me in, so I could get to my window seat, and said "I guess I'll get up so you don't have to crawl all over me." So I jokingly replied, "Yeah, good idea. Don't want it to get awkward just yet!" And he said "It would only be awkward for you."

Ew.

Way to make it AWKWARD, Dude. Needless to say, I leaned toward the window and promptly fell asleep and stayed that way until we landed.

The cab ride from the airport was interesting, to say the least. My cab driver was a lady from the Dominican Republic. Of course I'm interested in other people's native habitats, so I asked what it is like in the D.R. She replied "Oh we have the nicest bitches in my country. Beautiful bitches. " I thought long and hard, and then replied "Oh! The beaches are gorgeous huh?" To which she replied "Yes! You haven't seen a bitch until you've seen a Dominican Republic bitch." Okay, I'll take her word for it.

I met my folks downtown at the hotel, and we spent the entire first day walking around Boston. The Freedom Trail is AMAZING. Lots of great history. Allow me to deviate from the humorous blog-writing for just a moment to say that I truly respect these few guys who stood up against England to fight for freedom and fight for what they believed in, and WON. Amazing. And thank you, to the Patriots and to all soldiers today. What would we do without you?

So here are some cool things I saw in Downtown Bwoston:

GRAVEYARD SMACK-DAB IN THE MIDDLE OF DOWNTOWN: HANCOCK, FRANKLIN, SAM ADAMS AND PAUL REVERE ARE BURIED HERE.

THE BEAN TOWN PUB: WHERE YOU
CAN SIT AND ENJOY A COLD SAM ADAMS.

WHILE LOOKING AT A COLD SAM ADAMS.

Really, his gravestone is immediately outside
this bar's window.

YOU KNOW THE FAIRY TALE LADY,

MOTHER GOOSE!

SHE REALLY EXISTED! AND APPARENTLY SHE LIVED IN BWOSTON.

(Note: I'm not just assuming this is her, there was actually a plaque next to this grave that told me so...)

STAND IN OPPOSITION. AND, DANNY DOING JUST THAT. :)

STOPPED BY CHEERS.

BY THE WAY, THIS WAS FALSE ADVERTISING. I'M 100% CERTAIN THEY DIDN'T KNOW MY NAME IN THERE. TALK ABOUT DISAPPOINTING...

HERE ARE THE OLD STONE STREETS IN DOWNTOWN. THIS IS OUTSIDE PAUL REVERE'S HOUSE. AS ONE OLD GUY NEXT TO ME APTLY PUT IT, "I WOULDN'T WANT TO WALK DOWN THIS STREET DRUNK!" WORD.

HERE IS PAUL REVERE'S STATUE, WITH THE STEEPLE BEHIND HIM THAT HELD THE LANTERNS ("ONE IF BY LAND, TWO IF BY SEA"). THIS CHURCH IS STILL AN ACTIVE EPISCOPAL CHURCH, VERY COOL.

Our sightseeing curiosity satisfied, we headed back to the hotel and then out to Jacob Wirth, a delicious German restaurant, where we loaded up on jagerschnitzel and apple streudel.

The next morning, we got up super early so we could catch the train to go up north. I took too long fixing my hair, so we literally stepped on the train as it was rolling away. Phew! One hour north took us to Rockport, a quaint seaside town, where we had a great breakfast and took in the sights.

HERE WE ARE AT BREAKFAST.

THE HAAH-BAH (harbor)

I WAS REALLY DIGGING THIS LITTLE GNOME. I WOULD HAVE TAKEN HIM HOME WITH ME IF I COULD.

THE BEACH!!

MY FOLKS; ME AND MOMMA

IT WAS A SUNNY 40 DEGREES AND OFFICIALLY THE FIRST TIME I HAVE EVER WORN A COAT, HAT, SCARF AND GLOVES ON THE BEACH.

IT DOESN'T GET ANY MORE QUAINT THAN THIS.
ROCKPORT LOOKS LIKE IT IS STRAIGHT OUT OF A MOVIE OR A NOVEL.

WE THEN HIT THE TRAIN TO HEAD DOWN TO SALEM. HOME OF THE WITCHES. WHAT A COOL PLACE.

MY MOM AND I BEING WITCHES IN FRONT OF THE SALEM WITCH MUSEUM. AT LEAST, WE WERE DOING WHAT WE THINK WITCHES MIGHT DO WHEN THEY PUT A SPELL ON SOMEBODY. HAHA

CROW HAVEN CORNER, THE HOME OF LAURIE, THE "OFFICIAL WITCH OF SALEM" WHERE SHE MIXES UP HER POTIONS AND HERBS. I AM NOW THE PROUD OWNER OF A LOVE POTION (YES YOU READ THAT RIGHT) THAT I AM TO CARRY ON ME AT ALL TIMES, TO BRING MY PURE LOVE TO ME (LOL). SUPER COOL PLACE.

Next up was the House of Seven Gables, which is what inspired Nathaniel Hawthorne's novel of the same name. Old house, cool hidden staircase, lots of old trinkets and furniture. All in all, a neat little historic place.

I'M KNOCKING ON THE DOOR OF THE HOUSE OF SEVEN GABLES, AND HERE ALSO IS A PICTURE OF MY FOLKS AND ME IN THE GARDENS OVERLOOKING THE HAAHBAH (HARBOR).

Back on the train to head into downtown Boston for St. Patrick's Day festivities. We ate at the amazing Union Oyster House, where we had chowder and lobster. It was excellent.

AFTER MUCH ST. PATRICK'S DAY CHEER (AND BEER), WE CAUGHT MOMMA HAVING A CONVERSATION WITH A STATUE. SHE'S SUCH A SOCIAL BUTTERFLY. THE FUNNY THING IS, HE LOOKS LIKE HE IS REALLY LISTENING TO HER.

GREAT TRIP. I HIGHLY RECOMMEND BWOSTON!

Till next time. XO Dana

Turns out I was even more not that into him.

After a three-week internet outage hiatus, I'm back.

My latest blog, "He's Just Not That Into ME?!" created quite the buzz. I received so many comments and I am thankful and blown away (and very flattered) that you are reading my ridiculous point of view. This means more to me than you know.

The most interesting reactions, however, were from the guys I have dated (and even some that I have never dated) who recognized something in themselves and were dying to know if I had mentioned them in my blog.

First came Now Family Man Guy. He admitted that he was fine with me being a better bass player than he was (which is still up for debate). Rest assured, he was not the one I wrote about. No, the moron I wrote about who was just not that into me because of my mad bass-playing skills treated our one mutual interest in a musical instrument as the hinge on the door to eternal happiness. Everything rode on our one thing in common. Guess what, Marginally-Talented Guy - I blew you away on the bass, I still do, and I always will. I hope you and your Lady Fender have a nice time together. In your living room, with your tiny amp, alone. You'll cross my mind the next time I'm on stage in front of tons of people, rocking it out.

Are you Gay? Guy did not respond to me personally. In fact, it appears that his sister reads my blog and she immediately sent me a message. Although I learned that he is married now (to a woman...) I stand by my theory. He was able to tell when another guy was good-looking, even though straight men claim this is a humanly impossible feat for men to do. He dressed better than me. He shaved more areas of his body than I do. He loved art deco furniture. And although it was nice that he noticed when I had extra body in my hair or when my shoes had recently been polished, I am going to go on the record and say that I am now only dating manly men who don't ask me to accompany them to the antique mall to search for the perfect runners for their end tables.

Spoiled Rich Kid Guy reacted in his un-apologetic, North Dallas way. He reminded me that I let a good thing go, since his daddy's company is doing so well and he works some bullshit desk job there. Unfortunately for him, I am not interested in a life that consists of bad facelifts, shallow conversation with people who secretly loathe you and going to church only to show off your new outfit. Oh, and for the last time - the only way you are getting your diamond earrings back is if you pry them from my cold, dead fingers. So stop asking. Besides, I consider them my consolation prize for putting up with your preppy self for so long.

With regard to Exotic Foreign Guy, prepare yourself for the comforting news. He is not insensitive after all! It turns out he did not ditch me for my reproductive issues; in fact he was just not that into me because my hair is too short. Well isn't that the silver lining to this whole situation? Guess what, "In My Country" Guy - maybe I'm just not that into someone who has such an affinity for scarves and speedos.

Tight Jeans Guy actually apologized for his actions, so I am appreciative. And although I will not go out with him again (because I do love alcohol and will continue to drink for the rest of my days), I have nothing sarcastic to say about him anymore. Thank you for admitting you were a jackass and you're welcome for not publicly listing your name in my blog. No one knows your true identity. Except all my friends.

I also got a good laugh from some of my friends who reminded me of guys from my dating past who I just wasn't that into for some reason or another.

There was Could Be a Classmate of My Father's Guy. I thought I was coming to a business dinner meeting at Del Friscos. Turns out, everyone had "cancelled" and it was just old dude and me in this nice restaurant. I'm a smart girl and it did not take me long to realize that I was on a premeditated, sneaky date. I've never been so offended. Of course I left as soon as I ate a yummy expensive meal (I'm not dumb!) and never returned his calls. I even changed the committee I was on that he and I shared. Although he was successful, distinguished and he ordered wine in French, I was just not that into Mr. AARP for many reasons, including the fact that he tended to talk to me like I was a child. Later I realized that he could have been mistaking me for one of his kids.

There was World Revolves Around Sports Guy. It wasn't enough for him to watch them on tv; he had to play in every league known to man. Sitting and relaxing was not an option with this freak. Every hour of the day had to be taken up some form of physical exertion to the point of sweat and exhaustion. I love working out, I love being in shape and I love breaking a sweat just like the next girl. But I just wasn't that into his extreme love of the game. Dang it, sometimes I just want to sit on the couch, eat cheese dip and watch Lifetime movies. If you can't get on board with that then keep moving, Mister.

I've been striking out for years, enough to know what I want and what I will run from in 2 seconds flat. I know they are out there - the ones who are polar opposites of the guys in my blogs. Maria and Megan of SimplyShe put it best:

"Really Kinda Regular Guy: He eats cereal. He loves to grill. And he still hangs with the same friends he's had since college. When they're together it's all sports, work and highway directions. And he's easy going. He really enjoys playing with dogs and kids. But he hates to go shopping with you. It's about as much fun for him as carrying change in his pocket. But he's sweet. He swears he got the Victoria's Secret catalog subscription for you. And he prefers being in a relationship. But doesn't feel the need to rush into things. Or even talk about them, since he thinks everything is fine the way it is. Because he likes having relationship talks as much as he likes cats."

Till next time. XO Dana

Just Not That Into ME?!

Last night I was sitting in my "outdoor living room", which is a sofa and a chimnea fireplace on my deck. I had a fire going, a glass of wine and some Cat Stevens on the iPod. VERY romantic setting. However, I was alone! Now, before you go feeling sorry for me, allow me to explain.

It's not that I choose to be alone, that I run people off in an effort to explore my identity. No, I'd much rather have had someone on that sofa with me last night. However, being alone last night allowed me to ponder some of the past fellas who I have encountered and I got to thinking about why they ended up "not that into me."

I've read the book (haven't seen the movie yet), but I don't need that blonde guy who wrote the book to tell me when someone just isn't that into to me. I've dated enough to see the signs. Allow me to recap my last few years of strike-outs:

There was Exotic Foreign Guy who hit the door once he found out I have reproductive issues. English translation: He thought he was so amazing that he needed his fantastic genes to continue for centuries. Clearly, he was not that into me and my bum ovaries.

There was Tight Jeans Guy who ran for the hills when he found out that I drink alcohol. Apparently he wasn't on board with my "let the good times roll" attitude.

There was Spoiled Rich Kid Guy who needed a Xanax when he found out that none of his friends had heard of my father and that I (gasp!) work for a living instead of bumming off my trust fund. Just not that into me and my blue collar.

There was Team Roper Cowboy guy who ditched me for a girl who wore a belt buckle bigger than my cat. Evidently he was just not that into me and my reasonably-sized belt buckles.

There was In the Closet Gay Guy who listened to Broadway cd's in his car. Now, I'm not one to judge, but without a doubt he was just not that into me and my lack of male anatomy.

There was Possum Kingdom Lake Guy who didn't like that I am a non-smoker. Obviously he was just not that into me and my healthy pink lungs.

There was Wimpy Accountant Guy who was really bothered by the fact that I carry a gun in my purse, have one in my nightstand and have a taser in my car. I suppose he was just not that into me and my pistol-packing, Annie Oakley style.

There was Bass Player Guy who ran screaming when I played one of my demos for him and he realized that I kicked his butt on the bass. Unmistakably he was just not that into me and my talented self.

There was Perpetual Bachelor Guy who was so commitment-phobic that he broke it off because I was "Too Great." Certainly he was just not that into me and my amazing wife potential.

As you can see, I have endured enough rejection to be compared with being taken to the desert and left for dead. But, I'm keeping my chin up, because this is the way I see it:

Although there may be a long line of guys who just weren't that into me, there is an equally long line of fellas who would totally dig a Reproductively Challenged, Vodka-Drinking, Hard-Working, Non-Western, Non-Masculine, Healthy-Lunged, Gun-Toting, Hard-Rocking, Martha-Stewart Homemaker Girl.

And you know what else? Maybe I just wasn't that into them, either.