Tag Archives: dating

Valentine’s Day And Other Unfortunate Realities

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Lately, I’ve noticed a lot of visitors, dodging the landmines and trekking over mountainous terrains to stop over at my humble, but well decorated corner of the Internets and rest their weary souls. So before I blindside you with what I have to say, which by all accounts will probably alter the course of your life and so we better hurry up, I would like to give all the newbies a big, Blunt welcome with open arms.

But I hope that didn’t just make you think of the popular eighties love ballad by Journey.

Because I sort of dislike that band.  But not as much as I dislike hate Chicago.

But I do like that song ‘Don’t Stop Believing.’

But not just cus it’s on the popular Fox musical Glee.

Cus I don’t like Glee. But I do like that Jane Lynch.

And I like you. So why don’t you just stop worrying about what I do and don’t like, mmmk?

Actually, I can’t say I don’t like Glee. I’m just assuming I don’t. Never mind the fact that I just listened to the YouTube Glee Mix about a hundred times.

Speaking of Valentine’s Day, did you honestly think  just because I’m in a relationship that I would start liking this dreadful day?? I’ll bet you one aluminum wrapped red rose that you did. Ugh. Well, I was part of a video series that the College Crush and College Candy did called: Kick Ass Valentine’s Day… no date needed. You could imagine my enthusiasm at the chance to make fun of a holiday that is supposed to celebrate love, but really just exists in commemoration of the execution of Patron Saint Valentine.

I have included the original version, without the intro they added, in case you hate Valentine’s Day too (which I expect you do) and wanted to watch it. [DISCLAIMER: Guys, this video might make fun of you a lot. This is not an apology, just a disclaimer]

So, I want to know…. how will you be celebrating the horrendous holiday that is creeping in on us like that weird kid in 8th grade biology?

Cus I won’t ever stop believin,’

Blunt


Blunt Bites: The Boy Who Jumped To Conclusions But Had A Good Singing Voice

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[ DISCLAIMER: Blunt Bites break away from my normal, detailed laugh-out-loud (right?) posts. They are like snapshots of a significant part of my life. Sometimes, they’re serious. Sometimes, they’re funny. But they’re always gonna be delicious. Yum. ]

I called you one night, out of nowhere. The snow always reminded me of you. At first, you didn’t recognize my voice. Three years had passed since we had spoken. You informed me of your decision to move to L.A. to give your dreams a shot. I said I was surprised that you had finally done it. You said, “Of course you’re surprised, what do you expect when you don’t pick up the phone?” You were mad. When you had driven across country, you had wanted to meet up, but I never returned your calls. As you vented your frustrations, I shook my head so hard you could probably feel it through the phone and then I called you an over-reactor. This started an epic fight, something we had perfected during our brief, but intense college relationship.

In the end, I saw no point in telling you that I had never gotten your calls because my number had changed 3 times since then.

Maybe, that night, I just didn’t want to get into the fact that my number had changed 3 times because my identity had been stolen by drug dealers.

Maybe, that night, I just felt like letting you win.

 


Blunt Bites: The Boy Who Smelled Like Garlic

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[ Blunt Bites break away from my normal, detailed laugh-out-loud (right?) posts. They are like snapshots of a significant part of my life. Sometimes, they’re serious. Sometimes, they’re funny. But they’re always gonna be delicious. Yum. ]

It was 1999. I got let out of the hospital the same day as my Junior year prom, except it was actually a banquet, considering I went to a rather strict high school, where dancing was believed to lead to utter destruction of the human soul.

It was my first official date with you, or uh anyone, and I was nervous that you wouldn’t show up. I was banking on the fact that I had just gotten out of intensive care and only a heartless human being would stand up a girl with a hole in her head.

You were late, wearing a mismatched outfit and one of your dad’s ties. My snow white dress was a perfect choice for your red pick-up that lacked a muffler, but not an over-abundance of Taco Bell bags and quasi-empty Mountain Dew cans. On the way home, I laid my tired, broken head on your lap and you sang me Oasis songs because the radio could only get AM stations. You told me it was too bad I didn’t end up with a metal plate in my head because then perhaps we could have picked up more radio stations.

I fell in love with you despite the fact that you smelled a bit like garlic; and you managed to get past my Jewel-like snaggletooth. We dated for four years. But, for Senior prom, I made you wear a suit – even though you wanted to go as Lloyd Christmas from Dumb and Dumber.


Nosy for more details?

[If you’re can’t sleep until you uncover the mystery of the hole in my head, please visit The Hole In My Head: Explained. For the rest of the juicy details on my first love you can read So I Fell Asleep In A Few Bible Classes. And for the story on how my Baptist school accused me of being in a gang when I was in 7th grade, please check out Back When I Was In A Gang]

And We Didn’t Even Go On A First Date

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I just feel like it all moved a bit fast.

There I was, shirtless. And we hadn’t even bantered about our favorite foods. I didn’t even know his middle name. He had no clue of my sorted past with inappropriate men or that I have a constant desire to buy unnecessary office supplies. I didn’t even have the chance to make up some terribly impressive story about how I quit my job to work with Tsunami victims or feed children in Ethiopia.

In the back of my mind, I couldn’t help but be filled with doubts that this just wouldn’t turn out right.

But I was wrong.

For the second time I can vividly remember, I was terribly mistaken.

The breast biopsy results were negative.

All the juicy details to follow on the video blog. Why? Because I’m suspecting my only other competition is Wheel of Fortune, Jersey Shore, or one of about 800 shows that chronicle the life of a young law enforcement agent working on the streets of LA who quits his job every other week because he never anticipated how rough it would really be.

If you so much as even consider choosing Jersey Shore over me, we’re through.

On a serious note, I would like to give a big Blunt thank you to all of the people who emailed me and talked me off the ledge during the past month. Specifically, my new girlfriend Vodka and Ground Beef, and my Colorado other half, Twenty Somethings. It’s amazing how much you can relate to people you’ve never actually met. I’d say it’s the main, if only reason, I keep this old blog going.

So between the biopsy, the financial issues, a family crisis, relationship stuff, a bff having a baby – I apologize for my absence. I’ll be getting over to your blogs this week and thanks for sticking around… MUAH!

I’ll be back in a couple days with some introspective Thanksgiving-ish post!

12 Step Breakup Recovery Program

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It’s been twelve days since my last post. Accident? Please. We’re not talking about Denny DelVecchio here. I’m trying to subliminally remind that you that the twelve days of Christmas are just around the corner and it’s in your best interest to put the danish down and put the tree up. Don’t be one of those scrooges that waits til the day after Thanksgiving. Why even bother with the holidays if that’s how you’re gonna be?

I also thought we could channel any pent up rage you might have against me for not posting into something beneficial… like, learning. So while I’m working on my new soon-to-be smash hit “She’s Just Not That Into You Volume. 1 of 250,” I wanted to take some time out to educate you on a subject matter that I have mastered: the breakup.

There isn’t a one of you out there who hasn’t been through this dreadful necessity of life called The Breakup. Unless you’re 17, in which case, you shouldn’t require this information because you shouldn’t be dating yet. And if you are, I’m very offended. At your mom. Or dad. Or two moms. Or foster parents for not protecting your innocence. And I’m also offended at you for throwing such a fit about it and playing the “I’ll just run away then I can do whatever I want” card that they had no choice but to just give in and let you. I can just see you doing that snotty little voice that you do.

Darnit, the both of you.

Clearly, this topic is too deeply personal to not convey face-to-face …so I have opted for a video blog.  And I am quite certain if you follow this 12 Step Program, you will find yourself back in the saddle and riding off into the sunset with the strapping, young [and better looking than the last one] cowboy or girl of your choice.

*I apologize if I look like I haven’t slept in about two weeks. Cus I haven’t.

Yea yea, so I cut it off too soon. Whatevs. It was late.

Anyway, thanks for sticking around even though I’ve been MIA. I promise it was for good reason. But can I get some sort of credit for actually replying to my comments these days???

I’ll be visiting you all later today.

Boy + Girl + Blogging + Chicago + Frizzy Hair = BlogDate

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Listen. I’ve already paused the Roseanne marathon. I’ve canceled my plans to work out with Jo, the unofficial roommate. And I’m trying to set down my caramel apple spice long enough to type this, but considering it tastes like Christmas morning exploded in my mouth, I can’t make any promises.

Why am I going to such extremes, you ask? Or didn’t. I’m just assuming that you’re an engaged reader.

Wait, did someone say engaged? Cus I almost got claustrophobic.

So why am I climbing the highest peaks, crossing the deepest valleys and trudging through the murkiest swamps to write this post today? Because I heard through the grapevine that I went on a BlogDate in Chicago last week, and you are dying to hear all about it!  If that isn’t true, then I blame the women of the world. Blasted gossipers.

So how did this alleged BlogDate even come about? Everyone take a seat on the mat, I feel a coming-of-age story coming on!

Alright, boys and girls. Someday when you get older, and you have a blog of your own, you will start to get comments. Once in a while, you might notice a particularly witty comment that grabs your specific attention. You will then set out on a journey to explore that commentor’s blog. Don’t rush this -it will just come naturally, when the time is right. When you’ve met the right blog, you will find it to be equally as entertaining as the comments were, which will come as a pleasant surprise on some rainy Tuesday. I’m not going to set unrealistic expectations, but butterflies are a possibility.

At some point you will begin to wonder if this person has an actual face. One of you will harmlessly stalk the other and find them via a social networking site. In the event they do not have a social networking site, nor do they have a bio picture on their blog, it is safe to say that your BlogDate will never happen.

Should you both happen to not be repulsed by the sight of one another, you will start blowing up eachother’s Facebook pages. Then, in a random twist of fate, one of you will come up with a ridiculous excuse to give out your digits. [ In my case it was: “This might be my number. If you text me something that makes me laugh, I might introduce you to Oprah.”  A couple hours later I received this text: “I am sending this from my diamond encrusted pager.” ]

And before you know it, a boy from New York is on a plane to Chicago to go on a BlogDate with you.

Make sense?

Now, as awesome as this may seem, there comes a point where you finally come to grips with what you’re actually doing. For me, that moment came while I was on the train to Chicago. I will demonstrate my thought process with you in the following storyboard:

1. This wasn’t a thought process, but it was the largest Sangria I’ve ever seen. Luckily, Uncorked met up with me for some of these before I went to the airport.

2. WTF do my nails look purple in this light?! I swear, they looked black in my house! Why do I insist on living in an environment with no natural light? What am I a BAT?

3. Really? You could die today.

4. Eh, if I’m gonna die, at least it was in the name of journalism. Maybe Geraldo Rivera can do a reading at my funeral.

5. Way to burn your forehead with the curling iron this morning. Typical.

6. Family emergency so I can’t make it? Food poisoning? My hip locked up and I can’t walk? There was a bio-nuclear attack on the rail system? These all sound legit to me.

So we met. After twenty minutes I realized I wasn’t lying in a garbage bag in the back of a trunk, so my nerves let up a little bit. We went to Second City, which is a must for any visitor, followed by drinks at one of my favorite places. The next day, Chicago tried to break a record for hottest/most humid day in September ever. After sweating off a few pounds, we decided to find an indoor activity: The Art Institute of Chicago. BlogBoyfriend did his best impression of my favorite tortured artist, Van Gogh. They exchanged pleasantries and tried to one-up each other on who was more of a tortured artist. Blah, blah. I told them it’s all fun and games till someone loses an ear.

Careful, don’t laugh. DON’T!  Then I got him some real pizza. None of this anorexic, Kate Moss crap that New York likes to think is pizza.

All in all, I had as great of a time as you can possibly have with a complete stranger that you thought might want to kill you. But, he didn’t. In fact, he made me a mixtape. You may wonder, why oh why are there no pictures of you? Or the two of you? Well, I will now use my extensive Salvation Army Barbie collection to answer your question. Guys, Salvation Army. Expecting them to be clothed is asking a lot. And frankly, snobbish.

So surely, you understand.

But, when I visit New York, my hair will cooperate, I won’t burn my forehead, it won’t be a 100 degrees, I won’t have a panic attack, I won’t receive very bad news that morning, and there will be pictures! 

Go forth, risk your life, and get your BlogDate on.

 

Blog Dating Is The New Black/ eHarmony/ Twitter/ SpeedDate/ Facebook Poke

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No. This time I didn’t do anything drastic like move to London or start a retail store or give up tanning. But, I did meet up with a complete stranger from New York for a two-day BlogDate in Chicago, which I may have mentioned one, or fifty times, on my FaceSpace. I had to make sure I mentioned it regularly in case one of you had to work or something and missed a status update.

Now I know you’re all waiting with baited breath for the details of this excursion, and I assure you, they are coming at you faster than a chubby, asthmatic kid chasing after an ice cream cart.

 

 

Remember When You Hated Me, But You Were Lying To Yourself?

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“Out beyond the ideas of rightdoing and wrongdoing, there is a field. I will meet you there.” – Rumi

So, okay. We’re in the field, you and me. Now, I want you to take a moment. Sit down. Relax. Close your eyes. Clear your mind and try not to ponder the great mysteries of the world such as: “why, WHY can’t Rose just SHARE THE RAFT?” or “why did ever we need encased meats?” Just let it go. And please remember, in the field, there is no right or wrong. We cannot recall the mistakes of others. There are cupcakes falling from the sky along with pink glittery things. We are full of inner love and positive thinking.

Okay, you are now free to leave the field.

I just thought that exercise might help us in curbing any misdirected anger you might have toward me lately for my lack of internet presence. I realize it seems like I don’t do anything around here, but kiddos, mama has been sweatin’ like a Mexican housekeeper. I can say that. I went to school with a girl who was Mexican.

So what have I been up to, you ask?

Well, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’ve spruced up the place. My blog layout was SO last year. Now you may think to yourself, eh, a simple blog redesign no. big. deal. But guess what, when you’ve been hacked and your crap is all jacked, and your database needs to be updated, and your feeds won’t work, and your hosting provider doesn’t speak English, and you hate dealing with website stuff more than you hate cheerful people before 10 am, and then when you finally do switch over to your new design none of your pictures transfer over – it is A BIG EFFING DEAL. Needless to say, the homepage posts are fixed, but I’ve got about 200 more to re-upload pics to. So if you look at older posts they might look weird FYI. Good thing none of you ever do.

Oh, I also transferred my blogroll to a new page called For The Wandering Eye, and I even wrote little love notes about your blogs (if I’ve forgotten you, please send a strongly worded email). And I’ve revamped my About and New Here pages with fun new pictures like this:

And remember how I’ve had my photography blog up for like a year but no actual website, cus I really like to eat pasta and sleep alot?? Yea, well, the Indigo Photography website is officially launched!

Wait, I know there was something else…. Oh that’s right! I am going on the world’s first BlogDate.

What is a BlogDate? Well, it’s when two people of similar backgrounds and personalities start innocently flirting over blog comments and then realize they’re soulmates except they’ve never met. Or, it’s two people who are just spontaneous and ridiculous and like to have fun. Jury’s still out. So Monday I head to the Windy City where my witty and handsome New York Blogboyfriend will be awaiting me. He did a little preview of our meeting on his blog also, if you wanna check yourself before you wreck yourself. And don’t you worry, I’m going to blow THE INTERNETS up with pictures and stories from this experience! And yes, I’ll be paying you all a long-overdue visit very soon!

There. That’s what I’ve been up to. Are you satisfied now or are you still gonna cop a ‘tude?

P. to the S. I must take this moment to send the biggest shout out of my LIFE to Jen and Cheryl from CaffeinatedDesigns. These girls are geniuses. I was pulling my ever-loving hair out and they found a way to sort out every computer problem I had – and I only needed two boxes of wine to get through it!

Follow me on FaceSpace or Twitter to keep updated!

The September Of My Years [OR] Screw You January

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[Warning: introspection ahead. So, maybe there are a few things I’ve failed to mention over the past year. So, maybe I’m mentioning them now.]

Seriously, screw January. And all of its dreary, pretend optimism.

Here’s the deal: New Years happens in January is because it gives people a shred of hope amid what seems to be an eternal, bleak panorama of frozen tundra and dead things. Or at least that’s the consensus from behind my Midwestern ice-glazed window and $200 gas bill.

Well guess what world? I don’t buy it, and I refuse to accept New Years as my fresh start.

It’s all about September.

Everything good happens in the fall, thus, I’ve decided so should my clean slate. And no, I’m not trying to get a head start on all of your fresh starts. When people begin losing in Monopoly, I conveniently forget to collect their rent cus I feel bad for them. So I assure you, I lack the competitive edge to one-up you on your new beginnings.

When I think back on this past year, I sort of want to curl up in a fetal position. But then, I remember I did a lot of that already…  plus I’m not as flexible as I used to be. A couple months ago, I came to the point where I felt like I had nothing of worth, no direction, and I had screwed up my life beyond repair. Know what I mean?

Since this blog contains only 20% of what happens in my life, you may not know it has been a very pivotal year. I bet you’re thinking that now is when I’m going to start listing off the things that made it so pivotal. In truth, I was about to warm up some spaghetti, but I guess I could take one for the team.

Pivotal moments this year:

I broke off my engagement to the man I thought I would marry the instant he shook my hand. My best friend Kenny moved to California. I went through an almost clinical level depression. My family experienced great challenges. Financial stress, career changes. I caused tremendous hurt to some pretty incredible people. I took some risks that did not pay off. I’ve been paralyzed by Regret.

And Regret, coupled with its slightly better-looking twin sister, Guilt, can ruin your life. It’s like a ghost that lays dormant for years, and then all the sudden goes all ape-shit crazy. So how do you get past it? How do you recover?

First step: I took the summer off of dating to sort myself out.

P.S. Boys, sorry but you do not = drama-free.

Second step: self-reflection. That = no fun. I needed perspective. I cried until my eyes didn’t resemble themselves, wrote some letters, started a collection of over-the-counter sleeping pills, sought a lot of advice, freaked out, emptied several boxes of wine, forgave others, learned to forgive myself, started working with elderly people, started working out, cut off toxic people, went to see Eat Pray Love by myself (sad or awesome?), and spent many lonely nights thinking about my life, my past, and what I really wanted.

Cus if you haven’t got peace of mind, you’ve got nothing.

So, at the start of a new season, what have I got?

Hope. This has been a painful year of growth, arriving with the crappiest of timing. I am happy it is done and I move on with a better knowledge of myself, what I want, and who I want. Belief. I have never doubted the existence of a higher power; but, for a very long time I have ignored what that means for my life. That time has ended. Also, as shocking as it may be, I now believe that two people can exist happily together. Yes, for life. Friends. I have the kind of friends who drive an hour to my house to bring me a Kleenex. Friends who extend their hand in kindness, even after I’ve hurt them. Friends who exist only through written words, yet seem to get me completely. Friends who stay over, just in case. Oh, and Kenny moved back. Work. I have a job, which fell from the sky on a snowy day in January, that allows me to be creative and impact people’s lives. I guess I owe January a high-five for that. Family. When it comes to them, words aren’t good enough. Health. Or so I assume. I have been avoiding doctors for a few years now and aside from the mysterious lump on my rib, the locking hip, and the pain in my chest when I lay down, I feel great! And, finally, Peace. I’ve accepted that life cannot exist without regret.

So, that’s what I’ve got. And world, it’s pretty freaking fabulous.

Cheers to the 800th season of Grey’s Anatomy, falling in love, wearing scarves, figuring shit out, and most importantly – a New Year,

Blunt.

I’m In A Relationship With Life, And It’s Complicated

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So what is the secret, exactly?

And please refrain from referring me to the best-selling book, Secret, as highly endorsed by Oprah. I don’t care much for self-help books. Or Oprah. Or tube tops. And more obvious things like Ranch dressing and humidity.

I’d say the majority of my life I’ve been what you might call “a planner.” And no, not like that. I haven’t had my wedding dress picked out since 7th grade, but at the same time I try to make sensible, well-thought out decisions. And I own a label maker. Of course, this is also coming from the person who gave her family 2 weeks notice that she was moving to London, and who also started a retail store with no prior retail or business experience. So if I were you, I’d take whatever I say with a grain of salt. Perhaps, several.

Maybe like even one of those cute little mini-shakers from Crate and Barrel.

One of my favorite movie lines is from Dan In Real Life when Steve Carrell says, “Instead of telling your young people to plan ahead, we should tell them to plan to be surprised.”

If you think about it, life is nothing, but a series of surprises. Rarely have I heard anyone say, “Why yes, my life has turned out most beautifully, exactly as I expected it would.” Both the best and worst things in life always blindside you on some idle Tuesday.

This is especially disturbing news for someone such as myself, who hates surprises. I didn’t even like Happy Meals as a kid. Or the DumDums with the big question mark on them. Screw that.

I think how each of us defines a happy and fulfilling life is continually changing. I wrote a ridiculously honest post a couple months ago about broken dreams – all of the different ways I had envisioned my life to be at certain milestones, and the harsh contrast of reality.

So is it dangerous to dream?

Is our happiness measured by the achievement of dreams, or plans? Or is the destruction of dreams the only way we truly live and grow? Are they, in fact, the only thing that forces us to change? If left to our own demise, who of us would really seek change? Rarely, is it our idea to venture outside of what is comfortable.

And if broken dreams are inevitable, how do we maintain happiness amid the constant challenge of rebuilding? I don’t know.

I’ve never known.

Cus, lately, I wish my biggest dream was just to build a sandcastle on the beach. With my mom.