I kissed in the rain.

Ask and ye shall receive.

Last week a few storms rolled through and perhaps the change in weather also brought about a change in my feelings about the Baby Manager. They were unsure before, but a casual invite out with him and a friend, even though he haven’t seen each other since our yoga and sushi date, turned into a fun time and him walking me out to my car and kissing in the rain.

101 in Never Gonna Happen

Hot damn was I excited about 101 in 1001 when I started (which apparently is a post I wrote on an old blog). And OMG did March 23, 2013 sound soooo far away! Now with 68 days left, I’m 68% complete. Well, 101 in 1001, GFY!

A few weeks ago, I realized #48 “share a magical NYE midnight kiss” was not going to happen. I figured with three shots, it was a given. While my New Year’s Eves have gotten progressively better, none of them have involved a certain someone special.

Maybe I’ll meet him this year. Maybe not only before March 23, but before the ONE day of rain we’re likely to have in the desert between now and then so I can cross off #74 “kiss in the rain.” WTF is that? I blame growing up on Dawson’s Creek.


So, what’s a girl to do? A 68-day blitz spent running around doing silly things that were important to 26-year-old me? A new list? A newfound disregard for all things list-like? Yeah right. But, I think I’m just going to stick with my resolutions for now.

The Face Grab Kiss

So, I’ve been on threeish dates with Yogi and while I still have some terrible online dating experiences to share and Mr. Grocery Store decided to pop back up (persistent like a game of whack-a-mole), I was thinking I just don’t have much to say because it’s smooth sailing. It’s fun and easy, I’m totally myself around him and I’m not going crazy trying to figure out how he feels.

I’m trying to take it one day at a time and relax and enjoy it, but then on date three, he kissed me and everything changed. Not everything changed like Mr. Grocery Store’s dead fish of a tongue sent any chance of our May-December fling down the drain, but like wow.

Yogi invited me over after work to let my dog run around in his yard and I can’t say no to exercising that little demon (as evidenced by his relentless pestering of Yogi’s old, patient, super calm dog and the fact that even after an hour of playing, the young one just started sprinting in figure eights around the wet yard). On the way over there, Amy Laurent the matchmaker popped in my head telling me to never accept same-day invites, but then Amy Laurent the reality star reminded me she’s done it before herself, so I didn’t feel too bad.

We hung out all night, a little close sitting and I knew he wasn’t letting me leave without a kiss. He came in with a very assertive and sexy face grab kiss.

Note: I wrote this after date three and since then we had date four (more kissing), BUT I think Amy would be proud of me for keeping myself, ahem, busy, at a Halloween party at a bar last night and keeping options open in this early stage.

Dating, According to MJ, 060911 Edition

I’ve been thinking an awful lot about the last guy I kissed.  Not in a wistful way, in a it’s been so long, I actually don’t remember who it was kind of way.  I like smooching, so this is sad.
Not much to report for May.  I didn’t meet a wonderful man at a grocery store.  I didn’t go out on two organic dates as I had previously planned for May whether I documented it here or not. 
I did meet a man (organically-ish) who asked me out in May and we went out in June, on Saturday to be exact.  It was not an overwhelming, not an underwhelming, just a whelming okay. 
Facebook allowed me to prejudge him as slightly overweight, more so than I remembered from when we’d spent time together at Meetup events (thus the ish) so I staged my house for when he came to pick me up.  If he can handle my living room being strewn with running shoes + a foam roller, my bike and helmet, yoga mat, sports water bottle and a Camelbak without thinking he’s in over his head, I’ll let him try.  Perhaps they’re old pictures anyway and since he’s divorcing, maybe he’s going through one of those fixer up stages, because when I saw him again, I really didn’t see the beer belly from the pics.
On Sunday I got a text from a number I don’t know.  Well, I kind of know it…the first three digits are the same as my sister’s and I made that connection when he gave me his number, but I can’t for the life of me remember who it is…obviously someone I’ve deleted since. 
And when they’re deleted, it’s for a reason, so when the “hey, it’s been a really long time and I know it’s last minute, but how about dinner tonight?” came in, instead of tempting myself with a response like, “who is this?” that always just comes out wrong to the person on the other end, I just had to delete it, but it’s still driving me crazy! 
I searched my phone book for the men who I haven’t seen in a while, but who didn’t have any major red flags, it just kinda fizzled out with but I didn’t delete them because if they grew a pair and asked me out again I’d say yes and they’re all still there, so it’s none of them.  I guess the thing that’s really bugging me is if it’s TGISWOTSD.  I’m only about 10% that it’s him and 70% it’s Bach #5, leaving 20% for someone who’s completely off my radar and I didn’t even consider.
Finally, I meet a guy through a friend at a bar early last month, did some sufficient Facebook stalking, which turned out more favorably for him.  A man who poses with a football and a drink wearing flip flops on the beach at sunset?  Yes please!  A man who also poses with a Terrible Towel?  Panty dropper. 
This is the man I contemplated adding, then didn’t, and now finally did.  Now I’m cyber-hiding because I feel so exposed waiting for the response, but I guess I figured taking a chance and risking a bit of embarrassment is worth the potential return.  Sometimes you just have to make the first move, even if it is an awkward “would you like to be my Facebook friend?” type move. 
I have a second date with the married guy tonight.  Did you like how I just slipped in there earlier that he’s divorcing like it’s no big deal?  It is kind of a big deal to me.  I’m beginning to accept divorced is just a way of the world when dating in your late 20s, but divorcing is different.  Divorcing is still married, thus, he’s the married guy. 
I believe his story, even though it’s basically the same story any still-married man would tell when trying to get with someone else, but my walls are up a bit and I’m mostly just not sure how to proceeed. 
Anyway, I’m not too sure I’m feeling him, even outside of his married status.  We get along, he’s funny and tells good stories and I enjoyed the whelming first date, but I could pretty much take or leave a second.  He wanted to take, so we’re taking, and I’ll give it another shot.
But really, at this point, I know myself and what I’m looking for and while there aren’t words that go with it, I know it when I see it, which is the ONLY reason I’m happy that TGISWOTSD and Nonmush came into my life.  If I don’t see it, I have better things to do with my time and I trust that there is at least one more man out there who possesses the ineffable.
“What?! Now I’m not ‘f-able’?!”  Name that show and we’re BFF.  It’s pretty much the only show I reference.  Ever. 

Kissing Frogs

Sometimes I say things and people look at me as if I have two heads.  Apparently things I think are “sayings” are not actually sayings.  Or sometimes they are just not sayings that young people these days have heard.  What can I say?  I’m an old soul.

And then there are times when I just make shit up (mostly acronyms and I use them like they’re a thing), but we’re not talking about those times right now.

We’re talking about my recent overuse of the phrase “kissing frogs.”  To me, that means dating guys who aren’t right for me, with the implication that it’s in my search to find my prince. 

Maybe people my age just didn’t read fairy tales when they were younger? 

Anyway, I told a girlfriend my theory at happy hour and she suggested I just walk up to strangers and kiss them to knock out the numbers.  Missing the point.

I told my bestie my theory and he asked, “and by kiss, you mean sleep with?”  Missing the point so very much, but thanks for the vote of confidence about my whore-ish ways.  I let him know I have not slept with 12 men in my life, let alone in between the last two guys I actually liked, nor do I plan on sleeping with 12 in the next five months.

A third, when he assumed I literally meant kiss and I asked him about why no one got it said it was less about not knowing what “kissing frogs” meant and more about knowing what “kissing” meant.  Touche.

My good friend, Peaches, inadvertently taught me a technique to use in these situations.  He – yes, Peaches is a boy – tells this awesome story – all his stories are awesome, you should meet him and just listen to him talk – that involves his playboy father, his playboy father’s lady friend, a dead bird and the phrase, “it’s a well-known fact.” 

So now, anytime someone questions my stories or my phrases that may be from different centuries, I simply say, “it’s a well-known fact that…” and then they can’t argue because obviously they are the stupid one.  It actually kinda worked on bestie.

Am I that far off?  Is “kissing frogs” not actually a thing?


My last few New Year’s Eves have kind of blown.

2010 – I worked. While attempting to cocktail a tray of champagne-filled flutes, I dumped about half ON A GUEST (in my defense I was the door girl, not a server).  I mumbled an apology but was focused on getting back to the bar to get more because it was like 11:58 and most of the room was empty-handed.   All the champagne got out and I grabbed my own just in time to cheers the new year with my frustrating boss, his mail-order Russian bride and my very recently exed boyfriend.  Then the ex asked me outside and gave me some awkward speech about how it doesn’t have to be awkward and kissed me on the cheek.  Then I went home and cried and ate a burrito.

2009 – I worked earlier in the evening with my roommate/best friend/boss.  We went home and each fell asleep by 10, like the little old ladies that we are.

2008 – This was during the only party girl phase I went through.  I went to an overpriced party at a club with my two roommates and maybe kissed a guy or three.  My horrible roommate documented it and later sent those pictures to the guy who became my boyfriend seven months after the fact (because of a very twisted back story that involves a lovely little love triangle).  And I’m sure I was terribly hungover the next day.

2007 – I was sick, so couldn’t drink but went out with high school friends anyway.  My boyfriend had recently moved away and we were attempting the long distance thing.  I called him at midnight, but he claimed he didn’t get the call and got mad at me and we fought for the next two days. 

I don’t remember the years before that and it’s probably for the best. I always said that, hey the only way to go is up, but I would be totally okay if this NYE didn’t suck.  One of my Day Zero things is have a great NYE kiss.  I have three chances for it, so there’s not a ton of pressure there, but I have definitely been overthinking my plans. 

Plan A – Celebrate NYE and a friend’s 21st birthday in Las Vegas.  I actually got a ticket for this.  Then I thought about it for two seconds.  NYE…Las Vegas…21-year-olds (in her defense she does actually act older, but I imagine the occasion will have her and her 25-year-old girlfriend both acting like true 21-year-olds)…so not my style.  My Facebook invite RSVP slowly retreated from yes to maybe to no.

Plan B – Throw something together locally with other friends who also backed out of the Vegas trip, which is, like, everyone. 

Plan C – Rebel will be working at the party I worked at last year because, yes, he does have the same job as my ex, which is fortunately where the similarities stop (and my ex is no longer there) and has suggested I hang out there so I can at least see him.  This is less of an actual option, more of something I think about when I need a good laugh.  I am so not going back, even to see my adorable, little Rebel.

Plan D – My second invite came from my college roommate hosting a party in her fab apartment in LA.  Cocktails at night to be followed with watching the Rose Bowl Parade go by right outside the next morning.  Low key night with ladies I love and don’t see enough of?  Yes, please.  I switched my ticket to take me to LA for a fun-filled 24 hours.  It’s definitely more my style, except the only confirmed guests are two of the girls and their significant others, making me a fifth wheel.  I informed her I would be hanging off her balcony inviting tall, dark, handsome passersby up and she did not retract my invite so in a few short hours I’m jetting off to LA.

I didn’t really have plans the last few years and they sucked, so maybe since I came up with something ahead of time it won’t suck as much.  But, if it does, it can only go up from there, right?